


Reflux

by blueskypenguin



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Cure Fail, F/M, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskypenguin/pseuds/blueskypenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it was with bowl in hand that she pulled the front doors open, not looking at the lawn ahead, but behind her at the foyer as the cool morning sunlight streamed in, shining back off the marble.</p>
<p>“Rogue,” the groan from the region of her feet drew her attention immediately, and the bowl clattered to the floor, spilling milk and soggy bran flakes everywhere. Rogue dropped to her knees into the stuff, and it began to seep into her jeans. She didn’t notice, as Scott Summers gave a relieved smile from his prone position on the step before passing out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflux

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for at least five years, and have finally admitted I'm never going to develop or finish it. But it didn't seem right to let 30+k words go, and so I'm posting it. I don't know if I'll ever pick it up again, but hey-ho. So it is what it is, please enjoy.

Rogue eyed the balled pair of gloves in her sock drawer blandly and briefly. ‘I still have time,’ she thought, her mouth dipped in a frown. She knocked the drawer shut with her hip and walked out, her bare arms full of books. She descended the three floors to her classroom without seeing another soul. It wasn’t unexpected, she mused, as it was early – not even eight in the morning, yet – and the few students who remained over the summer break would still be in bed. Bobby was off visiting his family (on invitation, no less) with Kitty, and neither Ororo nor Hank would have any reason to be in this wing of the mansion. In fact, Hank was probably down in the labs, and Ororo was no doubt still asleep, having worked herself to exhaustion yet again. Rogue used her foot to nudge the door of her classroom open with an “oof” of effort.

With the books, she filled the last empty bookcase in her classroom and surveyed the room with pride. She was taking the Art class as well as taking over Mr. Summer’s English course, and as she was teaching two very distinct classes she’d been given the largest available classroom to accommodate desks, easels and enough space to push all that to the side to make space for drama sessions. The room had even been fitted with sinks and taps for washing brushes, palettes and such. The blinds were open, letting the morning sunshine brighten the room, and as Rogue clapped her hands together in delighted accomplishment she decided to fix a bowl of cereal and eat her breakfast on the front steps and enjoy the summer sunshine. Perpetuating this good mood became her priority. It was a peaceful morning, and with the school re-opening in a week, there would soon be few peaceful mornings to enjoy.

So it was with bowl in hand that she pulled the front doors open, not looking at the lawn ahead, but behind her at the foyer as the cool morning sunlight streamed in, shining back off the marble.

“Rogue,” the groan from the region of her feet drew her attention immediately, and the bowl clattered to the floor, spilling milk and soggy bran flakes everywhere. Rogue dropped to her knees into the stuff, and it began to seep into her jeans. She didn’t notice, as Scott Summers gave a relieved smile from his prone position on the step before passing out.

She panicked, looking for a pulse. It wasn’t something she knew well how to do, but when she found it, she gave a sigh of relief; He was alive, unconscious on the cold stone step, and she pulled him inside, shouting for Hank. She desperately hoped the doctor was awake, and that her voice would carry. His senses were good, but who knew if he would hear her down in the lower levels?

Pulling Scott’s head into her lap, she noted his lack of glasses and gasped. How could he have made it this far with his eyes closed? Scott’s face was a strange sight without the ruby specs he had to wear, but he was still unmistakable. She had no problem identifying that strong nose, his full lips and sculpted jaw, despite the pallor to his skin, the sheen of sweat on his brow and the sunken cheeks which all spoke of sickness. She kicked the front door closed with a little frustration just as a mass of blue fur bounded around the corner, followed by some bleary-eyed and nosy residential students. “Hank, he’s alive,” Rogue breathed. “He’s alive and he said my name and looked right at me before he passed out.”

Hank, like Rogue, checked for a pulse. She felt a little maligned by that, but she knew it wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, it was just instinct to check.

After all, Scott was meant to be dead, right?

It was there, weak but steady.

“Without his glasses? Extraordinary,” he muttered. The students were amassing and the whispering was starting to spread as they recognised the man on the floor surrounded by milk and cereal. “Let’s get him downstairs,” Hank suggested, mindful of the crowd, “You calm them down.”

That was something she could do and she grasped at the opportunity, desperate to be useful in such a strange situation. Rogue let Hank pick Scott up, the movement seeming effortless, and her eyes followed the pair to the lift for a moment. She stood, brushed her sodden jeans free of flakes and took a deep breath, trying to exude confidence and calm. It was strangely like channelling Ororo, or a pre-headmistress Ororo at least. “It’s early. Why don’t you all get some breakfast, or go back to bed and enjoy the late mornings while you can, hm?” She smiled at her students. “As soon as we know what’s going on, we’ll let you know.”

“What that really Mr. Summers, Rogue?” Siryn had a prize place at the front of the crowd. Those that hadn’t yet seen or heard gasped and the whispers started again.

“Like I said,” Rogue directed her answer back at Siryn, rather than the rest of the group. “I’ll tell you once we know what’s happening.”

“Would you like me to clean this up?” the commotion had pulled Jones away from the morning cartoons.

Rogue smiled gratefully, eying the lost breakfast with regret. “Thanks, Jones, that’d be very helpful.”

She didn’t stop to see what the students would do; she knew from experience that they’d probably spend a while standing around and making up their own wild theories for how their history teacher – assumed dead – had appeared at the front door. She swung by her room quickly to put on a different and drier pair of jeans before heading down to the Med Lab.

\---

She found Scott lain out on the main bench, already hooked up to Hank’s sophisticated diagnostic machines – most inherited from his late predecessor Dr. Grey. The doctor was moving around Scott, his moves smooth and calming. Rogue had found that watching Hank work was soothing in the strangest way. He had an instinctual stillness about him which was a comfort in such a chaotic institution. “Is it definitely him?” Rogue’s soft voice still managed to break the quiet of the lab and seem like an intrusion.

Hank nodded, taking a pair of scissors to the rank, grey t-shirt Scott was wearing. The removal revealed a bony, weak chest, but the rise and fall of it was possibly the most beautiful thing Rogue had ever seen. They’d lost so many people – she could hardly believe that they may have gotten one back. “It’s him, certainly; there’s a perfect match between his DNA and the genetic profile we have on record. He’s 100% Scott Summers,” Hank confirmed. Rogue felt a wave of relief. She realised with a jolt that she’d half expected it to be Mystique - though that was unlikely, Rogue thought more rationally, as Mystique was probably a class three mutant.

Rogue shook her head, chiding herself for over-reacting. “He’d clearly not eaten well for a few weeks, at least,” Hank continued, his aloud assessment more for Rogue’s benefit than his. “And he’s got a few cracked ribs, and fading bruises.”

“Why hasn’t he got his glasses? What’s been done to him?” Rogue asked, in half a mind to have Hank ignore her second question. Scott had always been the strong leader, the man who saved her from a camper van about to explode, untouchable in a way so different from her. Even Jean’s first death hadn’t brought out the vulnerable Scott into the light of day – he’d stayed hidden in his room. It seemed his own death had exposed him like nothing else before.

Hank sighed. “Well the ribs are healing, and they’re not all that serious. I’d say he just took a tumble recently. As for his glasses…” He sighed again, and flashed Scott a confused glance. “I’ve no idea, but we best get Ororo down here, not least because she’ll need to find a spare set of glasses for when he wakes up.”

“I’ll go get her,” Rogue offered.

“No, my dear,” Hank stopped her. “Scott is not going anywhere, and he is stable. You stay here and keep an eye on him and I will go fill Ororo in.” Rogue nodded, and moved forward to drag a stool to Scott’s bedside. The screech made by the metal scraping along the floor was jarring, and she saw Scott’s hand twitch. If the two were connected, she had no idea, but he’d moved and he was alive.

She felt like crying with relief.

She’d never been close to Scott – she was still a student when he’d disappeared six weeks ago. In fact, they hadn’t even had much contact since he and Ororo had rescued she and Logan. Even when she’d begun her training to join the X-Men Jean had just died and Scott wasn’t teaching: Logan had done it all.

Logan, who’d left to find some more answers. It was becoming tiresome, but she couldn’t really blame him. Especially not now Jean had died, most likely for good this time. He’d promised to come back, and while Rogue was looking forward to it, it wasn’t with the deep anticipation she’d come to associate with Logan’s disappearance. Bobby would have been so pleased to hear she’d gotten over her crush on Logan – if he still cared.

‘Oh,’ Rogue thought regretfully, ‘that’s not fair.’ And it wasn’t. Yes, Bobby had cheated on her, but she’d been the one to call it off when it became clear that she just didn’t feel for him what he had, and it was clear he felt more for Kitty than he had for Rogue. It wasn’t hard to let him go, just proving how right it was to do so. He hadn’t been surprised, though now he mostly only still sought her out whenever he wanted to talk about John.

No-one had understood John the way they had, and they both missed him. Rogue wasn’t sure where the pyromaniac had gone after Alcatraz; Bobby had pulled him off the island, but John had regained consciousness before they could get him anywhere near the mansion (Jean had destroyed the Jet with the labs) and he’d run off.

All that said, you’d think she’d regret taking the cure. It hadn’t been solely for Bobby, but it had been about the idea of Bobby – it was about touching again, and experiencing the things girls her age were experiencing. Not just kissing and sex, but dancing and swimming and playing sports without covering up every inch of skin.

But it all came down to the fact that they’d lost people because of this war, whether it was John switching sides (she still couldn’t think of it as a betrayal, knowing how John was), Jean and the Professor dying, Scott supposedly dying, Logan leaving to grieve, Bobby and herself parting ways or even the loss of the countless potential friends and allies they could have had because of this cure.

The last few months had been nothing short of hellish.

But getting just one of them back, it was so uplifting! Rogue could forget that her powers were going to return in a matter of months at most, and that Magneto would no doubt want to exact revenge on this institute for inflicting life as a human on him when his powers returned within the same time frame. When the class twos started getting their abilities back, Rogue and the rest of the world would have a better idea of when the threes and fours would see a return. Most of the ones had already reverted, their immune systems fighting back against what was, in them, an ineffective and thus very temporary cure.

Rogue wanted to stop dwelling on it; she hadn’t decided what she felt on the subject of her powers coming back.

And so, she took Scott’s hand in hers and settled herself on the stool. She was going to wait for him to wake up.

\--

Hank returned after half an hour with a couple of bacon sandwiches, a book and Ororo. The food and reading material made it straight into her hands; Ororo’s gasp was the loudest noise to be heard in the infirmary since Hank and Rogue’s conversation.

“Oh, Hank, what if he was there and we missed him? We were concentrating so hard on Jean’s effect on the Lake that we just…” Ororo wiped at her tears furiously. “We found his glasses and just assumed.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Storm,” Rogue consoled softly. “You couldn’t have known, and he’s here now. That’s all that matters. He’s here, and he’s safe and he’s alive.”

Ororo nodded, almost blindly. Then she took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes clenched shut. When she opened them, her face was calm and resolved. “Rogue, will you stay with him? I’d do it but I just don’t have the time. He deserves someone here.” Rogue nodded, though Ororo must have known that she would comply. Ororo looked close to her wits’ end, Rogue couldn’t help but what to relieve one of the woman’s burdens. “Thank you. Hank, he will wake up, won’t he?”

“He will, I’m sure of it. It may just take him some time,” Hank assured.

“Good. What time did you find him, Rogue?”

Rogue bit her lip gently. “About ten to eight, I’d say.”

“Okay, I’m going to find out how he got to our door,” Ororo decided. She moved forward, around Rogue, and dropped a kiss to Scott’s forehead, before hurrying out.

There was a silence left in Ororo’s wake. Rogue’s eyes were fixed on Scott; Hank’s eyes were fixed on Rogue.

She was an extraordinary girl – more a woman, now, he realised. He’d understood the allure of the cure when he’d arrived at the mansion with the news, but once he’d gotten this girl’s story, he sympathised all the more. To live a life without touching people? He may be huge and blue, but at least he could shake delegates’ hands, he could hug Ororo, he could brush past people in hallways without worrying about their health (beyond allergies, of course). And let’s face it, at his size, he ended up in contact with people often, squeezing down the corridors. This girl hadn’t known a safe touch for at least four years until she’d taken the cure.

And yet she was handling the revelation that the cure was only temporary remarkably well. Hank wanted to ask her so many questions. Did she feel the suppression of her X-gene? Did she regret it, or feel any different without it – better or worse? Did she want her ability back, difficult as it was? Could she feel the X-gene slowly recovering?

Hank was positively burning with questions, but he was far too polite to ask. So instead, he watched as Rogue continued he life around the mansion without her gloves, still at home here despite everyone else having something she didn’t. Some of the students resented her, and Hank had overheard many a whisper that condemned Ororo for letting this girl stay. Of course, with her powers eventually returning, it was best that she did stay, but it didn’t stop the students talking. Some understood, but sadly some didn’t; some sympathised, and some condemned.

Whether Rogue knew or cared was beside the point. She got on with her life, setting up her classroom and lesson plans, and now, looking after Scott. She couldn’t give him anything other than a hand to hold in his sleep, and a face to see when he woke up, but Hank felt that they both deserved that much and more. Rogue had been the first person Scott saw when he got here, and the way he understood it, Scott was the first person from the mansion Rogue met. Hank wasn’t going to intrude upon that small bond.

“Is there anything else you’d like, my dear?” Hank asked, finally disturbing the quiet of the infirmary, and distracting Rogue’s soft eyes from their assessment of Scott.

“No thanks, Hank, it was kind enough of you to bring me some food and a book. I’ll be fine,” she replied, making eye-contact with Hank while she spoke, before she returned to her vigil over Scott. It was another thing about this woman that he admired. Because of her inability to touch, she’d developed all sorts of other ways to provide similar contact. She always made eye-contact with the person with whom she was speaking, and she gave her full attention. It was more potent than a hand-shake or a pat on the arm.

He shook his head in wonder, before leaving Rogue with Scott and going to sort his own lesson preparations.

Rogue knew that Hank was staring, but she was used to it now. She’d been a spectacle since coming to Xavier’s Institute. She concentrated on keeping Scott’s hand in hers and memorising that feeling. Touch was something she’d taken for granted before her manifestation, and she wasn’t going to waste time now. She wasn’t sure how much longer she had left, after all. Scott’s hands were rough with calluses and dirt. She turned his palms up to find dust and mud crusting them, mixed with brown dried blood. Well, that wouldn’t do. Rogue turned to find that Hank had left, and sighed.

She’d just have to find the antiseptic fluid herself, in that case.

She gently laid Scott’s hand back by his side, and headed for the first cupboard. It was full of syringes; that wasn’t helpful. The second was full of bandages and swabs of various size and shape. The third had nothing in it at all, but she hit the jackpot in the fourth – antiseptic wipes, antiseptic fluid and cotton wool. She grabbed the wipes and fluid, and a handful of cotton wool and took it back to the bed, laying it on the small bench that pulled out from its underside. Hank had stripped Scott down into a new pair of boxers and the thermal blanket was pulled up to his waist. Rogue decided not to venture further than Scott’s waist – after all, it wasn’t like Rogue really knew Scott, and she couldn’t bring herself to take advantage like that no matter how cute he was. After all, Rogue had manners, and she could easily enjoy the view she had. She was only human.

She started with Scott’s hands. She pulled a wipe from the plastic box-full, and moved it in gentle circular motions, removing the dirt and grime from the man’s palms. Small cuts were revealed, knitted over – they were a good few days old at least. Once his right hand was clean, she doused some cotton wool in the fluid and moved up his arms, working slowly and carefully. Now that she was looking for it, she realised that his face was just as dusty. Whoever had gotten him to Westchester (for Rogue was certain that he couldn’t have done it himself) hadn’t cared for his appearance or condition all that much. She switched back to wipes as she, as gently as she could, cleaned his face. She’d finally gotten used to seeing Scott without his glasses on, though she wondered if maybe he should have his night mask put on, for when he wakes up.

Except, Rogue realised, his eyes had been open just before he’d passed out! He’d looked right at her – he’d said her name, then looked right at her, without his glasses on.

Had he lost his power? Had he been forcibly cured, or had Jean done something to him? Rogue couldn’t bear the thought of Scott having been forcibly cured. It was a very personal choice to make, and no-one deserved to have that forced on them – perhaps even Magneto. Scott would get his powers back eventually if that were the case – he was probably about a class three…

She forced herself to concentrate on cleaning Scott’s left arm, and not think about cures and mutant power classes. She’d had quite enough of that for the moment.

Rogue got to cleaning Scott’s chest, and found it solid and fairly clean despite its thin, papery feel from dehydration and the lack of muscle. She could practically see the cracks in his ribs, though she realised that it was probably just her imagination. She moved the cotton wool in long strokes over his stomach, until she decided that she was finished and Scott was clean enough now. She didn’t want him waking up uncomfortable in any way, if possible. And if he was clean and well rested, then she was part of the way there. She put the wads of cotton wool into the bin in the corner, and replaced the antiseptic wipes and fluid in the cupboard.

Then Rogue swapped her stool for Hank’s cushioned leather chair with padding, and sank into it. Tucking her legs up and marvelling at the size of the chair, she picked up the book and began to read, glancing at Scott after every page or so.

She knew hours must have passed before her knees started to ache from their prolonged strain. Her lower back twinged painfully, but she stood up, stretched and settled back in with her legs propped up on the edge of Scott’s bed. She wasn’t close enough to touch him anymore, but she could still see him, and he could still see her if needs be.

Hank ambled in and out, checking Scott’s monitors, filing documents, retrieving books and bringing Rogue lunch, and Rogue barely moved.

Night-time fell, and Hank tried to coax Rogue to tea with little success. “You have to show your face to the students, at least,” Hank cajoled. His efforts were for naught.

"It’s fine, Hank, I’ll get myself something before going to bed.”

‘Well,’ Hank thought, ‘at least she’s planning to go to bed.’ And with that in mind, he gave a small sigh and wished her a good night before he left. “I’ll be coming in here later, young lady, and I don’t want to find you here. You need to sleep as much as Scott does,” he warned. He got a smile and a nod from Rogue, and he decided that was enough. He’d drop in around eleven before he turned in himself to make sure she wasn’t going to try and sleep in that chair.

Rogue watched Hank go with a sigh. She knew that he didn’t really understand why she was devoting her time to watching over Scott, but it didn’t matter all that much. She just wanted to make sure he saw a familiar face when he woke up, someone who’ll understand when he realises that his optic blasts aren’t working. They had similar mutations, she realised, though she knew she was a class four and Scott was probably only a class three – he only had the power to exploit the energy. She had ability to control one of the most fundamental forces in nature: life itself. She couldn’t control that ability, but like Magneto had control of magnetism and Pyro had control of fire, she had control of life force. Or… she did. And she would have it back soon enough, like it or not.

Neither Scott nor Rogue had the control they needed and she wasn’t sure why Scott couldn’t control the blasts, just as she wasn’t sure why she couldn’t control her skin.

Rogue continued reading her book – she was only a hundred or so pages from the end, and she decided she’d head to bed when she reached the end. When she left at half ten that evening, she realised she hadn’t spoken a word to Scott directly, regardless of whether he could actually hear her.

\---

With nothing to do the next day, Rogue didn’t bother dressing up. She showered, pulled on some jogging pants, t-shirt and slippers, grabbed a murder mystery novel from her shelf that she hadn’t found time to read yet, and headed for the infirmary via the kitchen. She waved good-morning to Hank with a mouthful of sausage sandwich. He hadn’t moved the chair, knowing she was coming back, and she settled into it straight away with a ‘thank you’.

She put the book on the table by Scott’s bed and looked him over as she finished her sandwich. “How is he this morning?” She asked the doctor when she’d swallowed her last mouthful.

“Stable, but he’s slipped into a coma,” Hank sighed. “He’s receiving fluids and glucose to facilitate his recovery and rehydrate his body, but his body just has to do the work itself. When he’s well enough, he’ll wake up.”

“So there’s no telling how long it will last?” Rogue inquired, taking Scott’s hand in hers, her eyes fixed firmly on the doctor.

Hank shook his head. “It could be days, weeks, and heaven forbid, it could last months. We have to remember: he wasn’t a picture of health when he left here, from what I’ve heard.”

“He certainly wasn’t,” she agreed. She wasn’t sure why it meant to much to her… but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? “Would it help to talk to him? They say that, right, that talking helps?”

Hank smiled. “I think Scott would appreciate that very much. There is evidence to support the suggestion that coma patients can hear and even understand what’s being said to them. But you have to understand, Rogue, that it’s not likely to make him wake up any faster. Nothing you say is going to jolt him out of his coma. His body is repairing itself the best way it knows how, by making sure Scott does little else.”

Rogue nodded. “I understand, Hank. And thank you, for letting me stay around here.”

“We all appreciate that he meant a lot to his students, and he will no doubt appreciate a familiar face when he wakes up.”

“Yeah,” Rogue said softly, turning her attention to Scott, “You hear that, Mr. Summers? We’re going to be here when you wake up.”

“I think you’re entitled to call him ‘Scott’, Rogue,” Hank muttered as he left. It was enough to make Rogue grin as she could practically hear the eye-roll as he said it.

“Right then, Scott,” she pushed her feet against the floor to move the chair backwards, before propping her feet up on the side of Scott’s bed, “You get to hear me ramble on. Aren’t you lucky?”

\---

"Rogue?” Storm appeared at the door in the late afternoon, and Rogue immediately assured the woman that she was going to come to tea.

Storm smiled, “That’s not what I’m here for, but that’s good to know. Scott wouldn’t want anyone to get ill because of him.”

Rogue flushed with embarrassment, “Sorry, it’s just Hank’s been on at me to make sure I break to eat.”

“And so he should,” Storm endorsed, “But I wanted to tell you that I know how Scott got here – or part of it at least.”

Rogue’s eyes widened, and she gestured for Storm to take a seat. “Do tell! He’s far too weak to have made it on his own…”

“Very true, and he certainly didn’t do it alone,” Storm took a deep, fortifying breath. “A grey jeep pulled up the drive, right to the front door at seven forty-seven. A woman got out, opened the door to the back seats and carried Scott out. She laid him on the front step and drove off. She’d just pulled out of the grounds when you opened the door.”

Rogue could sense there was more to it. “Who was the woman, Storm?”

“Mystique,” Storm sighed. “Or rather, Raven Darkholme. She doesn’t seem to have regained her abilities yet, as expected.”

“So was he conscious when she got him out of the jeep? Does he know she helped him, or not?”

Storm shrugged, the gesture strange on such a graceful woman. “He didn’t look conscious, but he may know. She must have brought him down from Canada; Hank says he wouldn’t have been able to do much at all on his own.”

“But why drive off,” Rogue sighed. “She obviously wants something out of this. How would she know that we’d work out it was her? I suppose she may have seen the CCTV cameras…”

“She isn’t stupid, it’s the only explanation I can think of,” Storm agreed. “But she’d certainly in it for her own gain. Her abilities are going to return to her soon enough, and she must want some sort of leverage with us to make claim on.”

“I doubt it’s going to be for a place with the X-Men, somehow,” Rogue joked lightly. “After how Erik betrayed her, I expect she’s going to want revenge.” At Storm’s speculative look, she continued. “More than just giving up his bases and plans to the military, that is. I think she wants something more personal.”

“Well,” Storm decided, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. As it is, we do owe her a debt now. How is he?”

“He’s in a coma,” Rogue said. “Hank’s said there’s no timetable on when he’ll wake up, and we just have to wait for his body to repair itself. I’m just getting him up to speed on Colossus and Jubilee’s burgeoning romance,” Rogue winked.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Storm laughed. “He’s a closet gossip-whore, is our Scott.”

\--

Over the next six days, Rogue appeared after breakfast, disappeared for short periods for food, and then left late at night. She began telling Scott about her classes, and what she was going to teach, listing books and artists and telling him of the materials she’d managed to get on the modest arts budget that had been allocated. She told him how nervous she was about showing her own work and taking over his English class. She relayed the simple gossip of who was seeing who, the new students who had turned up recently, and what a great job Storm was doing keeping on top of things.

But that sort of talk became tiresome quickly, and she eventually ran out of trivial things to say. So she turned to less trivial topics. “The government developed a cure, you know,” she began. “They announced it just after you left – I’m not sure if you know this. Technically, it wasn’t the government, it was Worthington Labs but they were doing it with a government grant, with government endorsement and a military aide for getting it to clinics across the country.” Rogue sighed. “They used a little boy, Jimmy. His power is to negate other mutants’ powers when they’re near him. Storm isn’t able to control the weather… Bobby can’t freeze… I could touch,” her voice was almost a whisper. “But move away, and it comes back.”

“He’s a class four, so the cure they isolated from his X-gene works most strongly on other class fours. Like me,” she added, “but it’s basic immunology – it doesn’t work so well on the other classes, and so most of the class ones have already recovered. And just like if you move away from him, your abilities return, after a while, the cure is going to fail in everyone. I know what you’re thinking – why don’t they just take it again?” She sighed, wondering how much to say. Because he could hear her, right? “Well, their immune systems have antibodies to the cure now, anyway… and even so, all stocks of it have been destroyed. The only stockpile was at Worthington Labs and that’s no longer standing. Nothing on that island is standing, it’s all gone.”

Rogue took a deep breath, not wanting to get into the Alcatraz battle just yet. “I took it. I guess that... maybe you’d understand that? Control wasn’t something I was ever going to achieve, and at the time, I couldn’t see any benefit in my power. But looking back,” she hadn’t said any of this out loud, and it suddenly occurred to her that anyone could be listening. She cast a paranoid glance around the med lab, but continued anyway. “I think I had some control over the powers I absorbed. Not… not much, but since touching Logan, I’ve never been sick. I haven’t had a cold, not even a sniffle. I can go three rounds in the Danger Room and have no aches or pains the next day. I must have some of Piotr’s power, but I’ve not tried it since that last DR session.

“I was having a bath one night, with some candles and… I don’t know why I tried it. The fire didn’t burn me. I managed to make a small fireball before it got too much and I had to douse it under the water,” she shuddered. “I think it’s strongest with the people I absorbed the most from, like Logan and John. Anyway, I was holding a cup of tea in my hands one morning, almost fresh from the pot and within minutes it was ice-cold. And then there’s Erik’s power… I had a fight with John once, only a week or so before he left, and the cutlery on the table started to shake, then levitate. We were alone in the kitchen, so no-one saw, but he was a little freaked out.” She grinned, suddenly. “A little freaked out, but John was just as impressed. He was like that.” Her smile turned melancholy, and she turned her thoughts away from her lost friend, but in no better a direction. “And David was such a good artist…

“I’ve tried to use them since the cure and nothing’s happened,” she admitted, “But I think that they’ll come back when the cure fails, because I can still paint and draw just as well as David could. I couldn’t draw a convincing stick man before…”

\--

Soon enough, Monday morning dawned and Rogue had to begin teaching. She popped in to see Scott before her first lesson began, and found no change. “Not yet,” was all Hank said.

She was lucky in that her first class was the oldest students for art. Storm had decided that art was going to be compulsory, it being so good for rehabilitation. Many of the children and even the older students had seen and experienced horrors at the hands of strangers, the Brotherhood or even their own family. Those who didn’t want to take part could do a research assignment based in the library instead, but most students had opted to pick up a pencil, pastel or paintbrush and make something.

Kitty, Colossus and Jubilee were all a year younger than Rogue, and they were all sat in front of her at their desks with other students their age when she arrived. She recognised some of them, but there was a good proportion of them that she didn’t recognise, and that made her a little more nervous. At least her friends knew her, and would show her the same respect they showed Storm. Or at least, close enough.

“Morning, Rogue,” Jubilee broke the ice, and managed to do so with a straight face, though she did spoil that a few moments later with a wink in Rogue’s direction.

“Good morning, Jubilee,” Rogue replied with an eye roll. She decided that the only way to relate to this class was with honestly. So she dove right in. “Okay, some of you know me and some of you don’t. I’m Rogue, and unlike my colleagues I don’t go by another name outside of the classroom. You may or may not know that I’m only a year older than the rest of you.” There was a loud scoffing tut from the back of the room, and Rogue pin-pointed the heckler immediately. “What’s your name?”

The teenager was weedy, but he had the same cocky set to his stance that John used to have. “The name’s Zoom,” he drawled. “So makes you think you’re qualified to teach us? Putting some ace prints on the walls doesn’t make you a teacher, and you’re not qualified if you’re only just out of this class.”

“Well, Zoom,” Rogue mocked, “Those aren’t prints, they’re originals and my work, and it’s not my opinion that I’m qualified, it’s Storm’s, though Professor Xavier had approached me about teaching art months ago. If that’s not good enough for you then tough, you’re here and while you’re here, you’ll learn.”

‘Zoom’ looked appraisingly at the canvases and shrugged, relaxing a little in defeat. Rogue heard Jubilee mutter to Kitty, “One-nil to Roguie.” It certainly bolstered Rogue’s self-esteem, and she continued with her original spiel.

“Since I’m only a few months older than you, and I’ve lived with some of you for years, I know this is going to be weird. But because of all that, I know it’s going to work. Just do the work I set you to the best of your ability and this year will pass in to time. Don’t try to take advantage of our minimal age difference, because it won’t happen,” she turned to Jubilee, “Especially you, Jubes, because I know enough stories to turn your face so pink you’ll clash with your whole wardrobe for life.”

Kitty snorted, “She ain’t lying, guys,” while Jubilee was getting a head start on her blushes. In an attempt to divert attention from herself, Jubilee decided to play teachers’ pet.

“So, Rogue, what projects are we doing?”

\---

“Look, I know Shakespeare isn’t the most interesting thing on the planet to a class of twelve-year-olds,” Rogue said gently, “But it’s part of the curriculum and so I have to teach it, and I’m going to try and make it as enjoyable as possible, okay? So I want you all to help me push these desks to the windows so we’ve got a big wide space here, and now you know what the play’s about, we can try and act some of Twelfth Night out.”

Rogue sighed. One more hour and her day would be over. She couldn’t wait to tell Scott all about it, even though he couldn’t hear her. ‘Or, probably couldn’t,’ Rogue reasoned. It had gone well, but she was exhausted! But even so, she helped her class move the desks and got them to stand in a circle in the space they’d made. “Okay, Jenny?” She was sure the small, quiet blonde girl with the glasses was called Jenny – there were just so many new students! The little girl nodded, and Rogue grinned. “Right, Jenny, would you like to hand out copies of the book and you can be Viola for being so helpful, and Jonah,” another nod, from a small, dark-haired boy with bright eyes, “would you like to read the Duke, Orsino… and we need a Curio and a Valentine!” A flurry of hands went up, and Rogue gave a satisfied smile.

She didn’t see Ororo standing with Hank at the door, observing quietly. “She’s a natural,” Ororo breathed, “they love her.”

“She has an honest approach,” Hank replied. “They respond to that. Many of them need that honesty after what they’ve been through.”

Ororo sighed, “Scott would be proud of her. He was before, how she settled in after she got here, and putting up with Logan...”

“Scott will be proud of her,” he corrected, “He’s going to wake up, Ororo.”

She said nothing, just nodded. Hank knew he hadn’t convinced her, and wasn’t sure how to do so. He gently shepherded her away from Rogue’s class and off towards Ororo’s office. “Have you even taken a break all day, Ororo? You’ve taught five back-to-back classes.”

“I stopped for lunch,” Ororo protested, though she knew (and she believed he knew) that her lunch was eaten in between phone calls with suppliers and filing new student reports.

“Go and relax, Ororo,” Hank insisted, “Or soon, you won’t be able to conjure so much as a drizzle.”

She nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Hank. Would you mind holding down the fort while I take a nap?”

“Not at all, my dear.”

\---

Rogue dismissed her class and collapsed into her chair as they filed out. Teaching was exhausting, she’d decided. And she’d only taught four lessons today – she had five on Thursday! She’d have died by the end of the day at this rate. She sighed, sure she’d get used to it eventually. She put the copies of Twelfth Night back on the shelves, she nipped into her office to put away her lesson planner and she left, locking it behind her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her students, but there was a lot of valuable equipment in there, and some of her art pieces which were quite precious to her.

Without anything to drop off at her room, she headed straight for the med lab to check on Scott. She made it most of the way there, but Bobby caught her as she passed his classroom.

“Hey Rogue, wait up,” Bobby called, rushing out of his own classroom to catch up with her. “How’d your first day go?”

She smiled, glad Bobby was comfortable talking to her. For the first week after they’d broken up, he hadn’t been sure how to relate to her as a friend. As it turned out, it wasn’t a great deal different from their normal relationship. Kitty was easier to handle. After it was clear Bobby and Rogue were no longer an item, Kitty had come straight out an apologised – she hadn’t meant for them to kiss, and she certainly didn’t want to break up anyone’s relationship, let alone lose a friend like Rogue. Rogue had no issue with Kitty, and there was little to forgive. She gave Kitty her blessing, and made it known to the rest of the school that she supported the new relationship by acting completely naturally; in fact, very little acting was needed.

“My day was… long,” she settled on the word with a laugh, “And it started with a show down with a new kid, and embarrassing Jubilee horribly, so you can imagine that it only went downhill from there. What about yours?”

Bobby grinned, “Not bad, actually, though it’s weird being Kitty’s teacher.”

“Hey now, mister,” Rogue warned, her voice stern but the grin belying her enjoyment, “Keep that down, you know Storm doesn’t need that kind of scandal.”

“Yeah, I know, don’t worry,” he replied, “We’re being discreet.”

“Chatting in the hallway about it is very discreet,” Rogue rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just go see the girl?”

“She’s in for another hour with Hank – politics. Where are you headed?”

Rogue simply raised an eyebrow.

“Right, Scott,” Bobby nodded, adding sarcastically, “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What is it?” Rogue asked. She’d known Bobby long enough to know when he had an opinion on something that he wanted to share, and he had that barely restrained eager look on his face that said he was desperate to let rip. “Spill, what do you want to say?”

Bobby sighed, unsure just how to put it. It wasn’t that he disapproved… “Don’t get me wrong, Rogue, everyone wants him to get better, but don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with him? It’s not like you were close or anything, and please don’t think that I disapprove because even if my opinion mattered, I don’t… I just…” He wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“You just don’t get why I’m doing it?” Rogue supplied, a little angrily though it wasn’t directed towards Bobby, or anyone in particular. Why was it that she was always at odds with the student population of this school? If she wasn’t dangerous, she was a traitor, and if she wasn’t a traitor then she was an obsessive wannabe-nurse spending every moment, lovesick by Scott’s bed. They’d hardly ever spoken, for heaven’s sake! She barely knew the guy! But he’d been the one to save her and bring her to this school – it may have been on the Professor’s orders, but Scott and Storm were the ones to physically bring her here and she could never thank any of them enough for that. She’d found a home when her own had rejected her, and now she wanted to be the one to reconnect Scott with his home. He saw her, when he arrived he’d said her name. She just wanted to be there to reassure him when he woke up. And she told Bobby all this.

“Do you understand now? This is just… a way to return the favour, and to show him that we all need him here. This is something I can do,” she pleaded.

“I understand, Rogue,” Bobby said softly. “I really do.”

“Good,” Rogue sighed, “Good. Because sometimes I think I’m going crazy, like he’s going to wake up and wonder what the hell I’m doing, like I’m some silly little girl with a crush watching over him, the last thing he needs when the love of his life left him for dead and then died all over again at Logan’s hands.”

Bobby, as understanding as he was trying to be, rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, he’s not going to think that. He’s taught us all, he knows you aren’t a silly little girl. You’ve grown up, you’re teaching his classes in his place, you’re nineteen years old, Rogue, almost twenty,” he pulled her to him, offering her a hug he hoped she’d accept. She did. “He’s going to be so proud of you, and so pleased that you’ve stuck with him from that front door to the minute he wakes up. He’s not our fearless leader anymore, Rogue, he’s just a man who lost the love of his life and broke. He needs someone to have faith in him, and it turns out that it’s you.”

“God, Bobby, did we have to break up for you to finally become eloquent?” Rogue gave a watery giggle, and Bobby realised she’d been crying. She pulled away and wiped at her face, sniffing.

She still looked beautiful, and not for the first time, Bobby regretted that he couldn’t love her the way she deserved. It just wasn’t meant to be. “I guess so,” he replied. “Now, you go clean yourself up, and go see him. I’m sure you want to tell him all about your first experience as an English teacher.”

She nodded decisively, and turned to walk away. She quickly turned back, walked up to Bobby and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Bobby. And you’re still my friend, your opinion does matter. Now you go wait for your girl.” Rogue walked off to the med lab, and Bobby watched her until she turned the corner, out of sight. He stood staring at the end of the corridor for a moment, mesmerised. She certainly deserved more than he could give, but he was lucky: he had someone else he could give that to and who could return it. With Kitty at the forefront of his mind, he walked off towards his room, knowing she’d stop there straight after her lesson as they’d planned.

Rogue stepped into the med bay, and was instantly disappointed. Scott was just as she’d left him this morning. The machines were still beeping a steady, heartbeat rhythm; the man on the bed was still comatose and unmoving. He hadn’t yet woken up.

The next two days passed in a similar fashion, and Rogue was beginning to think he’d never wake up. She visited him every morning, and spent a few hours with him every night, and if she had any spare time between lessons, she spent what she could of that in the med bay too.

Thursday dawned like any other day. It was an overcast September morning, not yet cold enough to feel like autumn but not bright enough to still feel like summer. It was a period of change, and Rogue was hopeful. Scott was just as he had been for the last ten days, and Rogue checked on him only briefly, running as late as she was. She quickly promised to return at six when her day ended before rushing out, the slice of toast she’d been devouring sticking in her throat. She really needed to fix that alarm clock, she vowed.

 ---

The first thing he felt was a throbbing ache. His head hurt, his chest hurt, his shoulders and legs hurt.

The first thing he heard was the beeping of medical monitors. He must be in the med lab. He smelled it, clean and citrus-y. It was familiar.

He opened his eyes and was assailed with colour, but he was also alone. And he was so, so tired. Too tired to take in the colours. Why were there colours?

He closed his eyes, and realised she must be teaching. ‘She who?’ he thought, but passed out before he could really work it out.

\---

She was just about to dismiss the last class of the day when Hank appeared at her door. She couldn’t tell from his face whether the news was good or bad, but there was news – that was certain. “Okay, guys, I’ll put your easels away. I want a sketch of something important to you, anything at all and in pencil only by the end of the week. Please put some thought into it. Off you go,” she let the class go, and they all filed past Hank eagerly. 

She started folding up the easels, attempting to stall Hank from telling her anything. Scott had seemed healthy, but what if there was a complication they’d all missed? What if he wasn’t ever going to wake up? “Rogue, you can leave the easels,” Hank said, and Rogue could hear the mirth in his voice. It couldn’t possibly be good news? She stilled her hands and stood up straight, sighing.

“Okay, bad news first,” Rogue demanded.

Hank’s brow knitted. “There is no bad news. Except perhaps the red paint you have on your trousers?” Rogue dropped her head, and saw that there was, indeed, a huge dollop of dried red paint on her black trousers. She threw her hands up in defeat. It must have been there for two hours, at least. Wow, that was embarrassing. “There is good news, however. Scott has come out of his coma and is simply sleeping now.”

She gasped, “That’s fantastic! Let me just get changed, I’ll be right down.”

“There’s no rush, my dear, I’m sure he’ll wait for you,” Hank smiled.

Rogue did leave the easels and followed Hank out of the classroom, almost forgetting to lock it, before she ran up to her room to change. She made it back down to the med lab with less than ten minutes having passed.

Scott looked no different. He was still unconscious – asleep, Rogue reminded herself – and he hadn’t moved at all. But the machines were off now, and the room felt incomplete without the steady reminder that Scott was alive.

Hank was no where to be seen.

She moved into what was now effectively her chair, and waited for Scott to wake up.

She paced, she sang, she found a tennis ball in a drawer and began playing catch with herself. She flicked through the latest Scientific American, and perused the books on Hank’s shelves.

After two hours, she was getting seriously frustrated. “Come on, Scooter, you don’t need that much beauty sleep.” She covered her face in embarrassment. Why must she keep those pesky character traits of Logan’s? It’d been so long since anything other than David’s artistic talent had come out, she’d almost forgotten she had anything else. It seemed some things were simply a part of her now.

“Your Logan impression needs work.”

The voice wasn’t Hank’s. She parted her fingers and peeked through them to find Scott squinting at her quizzically. “Sadly I haven’t smoked enough to get his voice spot on,” was the first thing to come to mind. She wanted to hide her face again. Of all the things she’d wanted to say, that was the last thing she’d have thought of.

“I can’t say that’s something to be sad about,” Scott’s own voice was rough and he was struggling to sit up.

“Here, let me help,” Rogue pulled his pillows up while he shuffled up the bed, trying to get comfortable.

Once he was settled, she sat back down and Scott looked around. “How is this possible?”

Rogue grimaced. “You’re going to have to narrow that down a little. There’s been a lot of impossible around here lately.”

The look he gave her was exasperated, helpless and curious, like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to explain that statement, or ask her just one thing at a time, or tell her to stop being difficult. As it was, it was all of those things and Scott was desperate to know everything. He’d always been far too curious for his own good. One thing at a time, Cyke, he thought. “How can I see without my glasses?”

“We were hoping you might know,” Rogue sighed. “Do you know how you got here?” Scott shook his head, and Rogue nodded. “Right, then, this is what we know. Mystique found you, or rather Raven Darkholme as she is now, for the moment,” she realised she wasn’t explaining herself very well. “Anyway, she dropped you off on the front steps of the mansion last week – ten days ago, Sunday that was – and you’ve been in a coma until today. You didn’t have your glasses, you were conscious for a few moments when she left you here, and you looked right at me without your glasses and nothing was destroyed.”

Scott blinked, and tried to make sense of her rather rambling account. Mystique had dropped him off, but she wasn’t Mystique at the moment, but she would be again? “What about Mystique, why is she Raven ‘for the moment’?”

“Did you hear about the Cure?” Rogue asked, thinking of everything she told him while he’d been out of it. When Scott shook his head ‘no’ again, Rogue wondered if he’d heard any of it. “They announced it shortly after you left. It’s a mutant antibody that suppresses the X-gene. Except, it’s not permanent.”

Scott’s gaze immediately shot to her hands, and Rogue felt an unexpected wave of shame. She carried on speaking, hoping Scott wouldn’t notice the flush on her cheeks. “Mystique had been captured, but when Magneto went to get her out, a guard tried to shoot him with a gun loaded with cure needles. Mystique took the hit, and he left her there, newly human. From what we saw on the CCTV cameras, she’s still human – she’s still Raven – but she’s going to revert soon.”

“Since when did the mansion have CCTV?” Scott asked. Just how much had he missed? How long had he been away? “Rogue, how long is it since I… I left?”

“Oh god,” Rogue muttered. “Scott, how much do you remember – the last thing?”

He closed his eyes, his head killing him. But he noticed, sadly, that it wasn’t at all like the headaches that used to accompany the build-up of his optic blasts. It was just a run-of-the-mill headache. What was the last thing he remembered? Water… he remembered… “Jean.” He remembered the Professor talking to him, Jean telling him it was what she had to do. “Jean died. She was in my head and…” But he remembered being back there, on the rocks, by the lake with Jean. Oh, god. “I went back to Alkali Lake, and Jean appeared. She told me to take my glasses off, she said she could control the blasts herself. We’d tried before but she’d never managed it… It worked, and I could see her and she seemed just like Jean…”

Rogue wasn’t sure if she should be the one to hear this, or the one to fill in the rest of the blanks. She was beginning to feel rather out of her depth. She’d not known Scott or Jean all that well beyond their status as teachers and leaders, and now Scott was telling her what happened and she was going to have to tell him how it ended.

“She wasn’t Jean anymore. She tried to…” He finally looked at Rogue, the pain unmistakable in his eyes. “Excuse the expression, but she tried to suck the life out of me.” Rogue swallowed and gave a rueful smile. It was amazing he could think of her emotions at a time like this. “I was pretty out of it, but then… I was surrounded by trees, on the forest floor, I think. I woke up and I think I was being put into an ambulance… and then – I remember!” Rogue smiled at the enthusiasm he showed, wishing it were under better circumstances. “I remember being on the steps, and looking up and you were standing with the door open, and you dropped something and then…”

“Now?” Rogue asked.

“Yeah. What’s happened, where’s Jean?” Scott wasn’t frantic; it was almost like he already knew. Or perhaps he’d resigned himself to the change he’d seen in Jean. Either way, it was a jarring change from his enthusiastic quest through his memories moments before.

“Scott, I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you,” she admitted. “I’ll get Ororo, she was there.”

Scott cut her off sharply. “Rogue, you know what happened, so tell me. All of it.”

Rogue sighed. “If you’re sure.” Scott nodded, rolling his eyes. “The Professor felt Jean trying to kill you, and sent Logan and Ororo to Alkali Lake to find you. They couldn’t, but they found your glasses and they found Jean, unconscious. With your glasses and no body, they assumed…”

“They assumed I was dead,” Scott’s voice was flat. “Fair enough.”

“They couldn’t have known, and when Jean woke up in the lab, she asked Logan to kill her before she killed anyone else. She was… out of control, Scott. She went crazy and tore up the lab before walking out of the mansion. The Professor,” Rogue swallowed. It was still hard to talk about such an amazing man, now gone. “he explained that Jean had dual personalities, the conscious Jean who was in control of her powers and the subconscious personality that was just pure power and emotion. It called itself Phoenix.”

Scott covered his face with his hands. “How could I not know this?” His voice was muffled, but unmistakably hurt.

"It’s possible Jean didn’t even know. The Professor had apparently put psychic blocks in her mind to try and separate the two entities and allow Jean to come into her powers more naturally. Whatever the outcome, his intentions were good,” Rogue assured him. She’d seen how angry Logan had been when he was telling her. Only Logan’s respect of the Professor stopped him killing the man.

Nodding, Scott revealed his face again, dry. Rogue half expected him to have been crying by now. She was sure she would have. She hoped Scott wasn’t putting on a front for her benefit. “I’m sure he knew what he was doing. What happened after she left?”

“The Professor, Logan and Ororo went after her. She was at her home in Annandale but the Brotherhood had already showed up – Magneto and a few new cronies he’d recruited. The Professor and Magneto went in alone, and Logan and Ororo ended up fighting the sidekicks. The fight moved into the house, and from what Logan and Storm managed to see and hear, the Professor and Erik were each vying for Jean’s loyalty. She… she killed the Professor, Scott, he’s dead.”

“Dead,” Scott repeated, numbly. “How can he be dead? He can’t…” Scott realised how stupid it must sound to suggest that the Professor couldn’t die. “She killed him?”

“It wasn’t Jean,” Rogue sighed, “We all have to remember that. The Phoenix had total control. She left with Magneto, and Logan and Ororo came back alone. The funeral happened shortly afterwards. I left… from what I gathered when I came back, Logan went off on his own to try and bring Jean back,” she couldn’t look at Scott. She wasn’t sure whether it was her actions she was ashamed of, or Logan’s, but either way she couldn’t face the reaction Scott would have. “He failed, but he overheard Magneto addressing his troops. They were going to Alcatraz Island to destroy the lab there – Worthington Labs – where they made the cure from a mutant boy.”

Scott had the feeling he knew that, but didn’t interrupt. Rogue wouldn’t look at him – she was staring intently at her bare, clasped hands on her lap. She’d taken the cure, that much was obvious. The way she started avoiding his eyes as soon as the conversation turned to her disappearing and Logan’s quest, he was sure she was ashamed. Sure, he was pissed off at Logan for that, but the man had been in love with his fiancée, it was only natural for Scott to be pissed about it. Knowing what it was like to have no control over his power… at least he could touch people. At least, even with his mutation, he could still see. No wonder Rogue had jumped at the chance to live a more normal life.

“Logan, Ororo, Hank, Bobby, Kitty and Poitr went to Alcatraz to defend the labs, defend Jimmy, to just stop Magneto. The battle only lasted half an hour from what I’ve heard. The military were protecting the island, using cure weapons. None of the X-Men got hit, but many of Brotherhood did. We – they – were so lucky. Kitty got Jimmy out of the lab, Bobby knocked John out but John came to and disappeared instead of coming back with us. Hank and Logan managed to stick four cure darts in Magneto, and they were talking Jean out of the fight. It looked like it was over, but then reinforcements from the military came over the bridge,” Rogue sighed, realising she missed that part out, “that is, Magneto moved the Golden Gate Bridge to get him and the Brotherhood to Alcatraz.”

“Impressive,” Scott muttered.

“Logan had almost brought Jean back out in the Phoenix, but the military opened fire with cure weapons and the Phoenix got so angry… she began to destroy everything: the lab, the jet, just… everything. Ororo got everyone to safety while Logan… Logan went to stop Jean. He killed her… the Phoenix,” Rogue finished her story and dragged her eyes up to meet Scott’s. “I’m so sorry, Scott; there was no other way.”

Scott stared at the ceiling. “Yeah,” was all he said.

Neither of them spoke for a short while. What was there left to say, after all? Rogue didn’t even look at Scott, she just tucked some hair behind her ear and stared at the floor. The ball was in his court now and it was up to him what happened next.

“How come the school is still open?” Scott eventually asked, his voice even and giving nothing away.

Rogue nodded absently. This was something she could talk about with authority. “Ororo’s in charge; the Professor left instructions for her to take over and things were put in her name. She’s teaching History and Geography and Hank stuck around to run the med lab and teach politics and science. He turned down a position with UN to do it,” she added, her voice a little incredulous. “I still don’t quite understand that. Bobby and I graduated with Poitr and we’re teaching. Not Poitr, though, just Bobby and I. Poitr has gone out to college.”

Scott smiled; his first genuine smile since he woke up. His students had grown up and were teaching! He felt pride bubble up in his chest, and suddenly life didn’t seem so terrible. “What are you teaching?”

“Bobby’s teaching maths and I’m teaching Art and … English, actually,” Rogue knew she was repeating everything she’d already told him, but if he hadn’t heard it then he can’t be blamed.

“Wow,” Scott’s eyes widened, and as he was looking at Rogue he had the feeling he’d known she was teaching. But, he had! Of course, he woke up and thought that ‘she’ must be teaching! If Rogue was here, without being asked, surely she must be the ‘she’? “I think I knew that,” he admitted. “You’re doing Twelfth Night with the sixth graders instead of Merchant of Venice because you’d rather have them act out something funny than something centred on prejudice.” The words came to him without much thought. It was a strange feeling, like he had no control over his own speech.

Rogue’s jaw was on the floor, “You were unconscious – you were in a coma!”

“It seems I heard it,” Scott grinned, enjoying Rogue discomfort. “I remember you saying it, at least. I hope you told me something blackmail-worthy that I can remember. But art? I didn’t know you were an artist.”

She nodded, “I am, well… now anyway.”

“Hmm?” Scott asked, urging her to explain. He wished he could remember all that she’d said to him; she was quite embarrassed by the whole thing and she was blushing quite prettily. God, thought Scott in disgust, what am I doing? She may be nineteen, but he’d just lost his fiancée twice and his powers. So why wasn’t he more heartbroken? Did knowing that the woman who’d almost killed him wasn’t Jean make it easier to accept that Jean was gone? Or was it knowing what the Phoenix did make that acceptance easier, because Jean would never have done anything like that? Jean could barely bring herself to dissect animals, let alone kill her mentor, and hundreds of soldiers. Was it knowing that this girl, this woman, Rogue, had been apparently watching over him since he collapsed at her feet ten days ago, telling him about her life and now being here, bringing him up to speed, despite not feeling like she was the right person to do so.

“What, you don’t remember this bit?” Rogue teased, trying to turn the conversation around. It was easier to talk about her powers when she knew Scott wasn’t listening. Though it seems he was, on some level.

“Seems not,” Scott replied, “You want to help an old man recall?”

“Hardly old, Scott,” she scoffed.

Scott rolled his eyes, “Beside the point, Rogue, spill it. I want to know how I missed the fact that my best English student is an artist qualified enough to teach others.”

“Well, I’m not qualified in any way, but the Professor saw some of my drawings one day, and knowing where it came from, he asked if I’d continue it, to encourage the ability out more and teach the other students. Art is very therapeutic, you know, and some of the kids have seen a lot in their lives,” she explained.

He remembered something. The art had something to do with David, a boy called David. “Who’s David, Rogue?” he asked softly.

Her eyes misted over, and she blinked, trying to get them clear again. She stared off at a tile on the opposite wall. She wasn’t going to shed any more tears over David or her mutation. “He’s… he was my friend. The first boy I kissed. Then my mutation manifested and put him in a coma. He was an artist.”

“Of course, you keep them, don’t you,” Scott said quietly, sympathetically. “After Liberty Island, you took on some of Logan’s more charming habits but I never thought… And it extends to mutant powers as well, doesn’t it?”

Rogue nodded, “Yeah. Erik, Logan, John, some of Bobby’s and Poitr’s. I assume they’re going to come back when-“

“When your mutation returns,” Scott finished. “At least you know now, and you can train yourself to use them, though I wouldn’t recommend going around collecting them, if only for your sanity.”

She turned her head and re-established eye contact with Scott again. “The more people I have in my head, the less I feel like me.”

Scott wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he was saved from having to say anything; Hank walked in, oblivious to his patient’s consciousness and not even looking at Rogue as he spoke, “Rogue, it’s almost dinner time and just because our patient is definitely going to wake up soon, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you stay here and skip meals.”

Rogue grinned at Scott, “Oh, Hank, couldn’t I convince you to bring down a couple of plates?”

Hank hadn’t even looked Scott’s way, and he was now hunched over his computer screen, completely focussed. “No, Rogue, not again, you’ll go up there or I’ll knock you out and put you on a drip feed.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, Hank? She’s only trying to entertain me, after all,” Scott asked, amazed to see his old teacher walking about the mansion again. He’d hardly changed in ten years, that was for sure. Hank wasn’t easily startled, but his head whipped around to see Scott sitting up in bed with a smile a mile wide and Rogue attempting to smother her giggles. Hank couldn’t help but be slightly embarrassed by his own ignorance, but still he walked over to Scott and began to check his condition.

“How are you feeling, Scott?” Hank asked.

“Should have let him ignore me,” Scott muttered to Rogue, who dissolved back into her giggles. Scott continued to grin and he turned to Hank. “Like death.”

Rogue immediately stopped laughing, “Oh, Scott, that’s not funny. We did think you were dead.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not, but I do feel terrible,” seeing Rogue’s reaction, Scott felt a little wave of guilt that the off-hand comment. “My head is pounding, my chest is aching and my legs are tingling.”

Hank nodded. “You did have a few cracked ribs that have mostly healed now, and most of your bruises have faded. For all my efforts, you’re still slightly dehydrated which accounts for your headache. And as for your legs, it’ll just be the circulation getting back on track, now you’re moving. You’re still going to be tired for the next couple of days, and we still have no idea what’s going on with your optic blasts, but you seem to be out of the woods, boy.”

“Thanks, Hank,” Scott sighed. “Seems someone left me in a bad way…” From what Hank said, it was clear it was Jean who’d left him bruised and mildly broken, but he kept reminding himself: it wasn’t Jean, it was the Phoenix. And both of them were dead and gone.

“Rogue, why don’t you go get yourself and Scott some soup and come back, and if you see Ororo on your way?” Hank instructed.

“Sure,” she stood, gave Scott a little wave and disappeared out of the door.

Scott watched her go, curious. He was about to ask… something, anything, when Hank spoke anyway. “She’s been here every free moment since you came here. She was the one to find you; I think she felt responsible for you.”

“She’s not the girl I remember, not in a lot of ways,” Scott commented. “Not least because she’s in more colours than red now.” He wasn’t too sure how he felt about that, or any of it for that matter. Rogue had been a scared fifteen-year-old when he’d cut her out of the burning camper, and after her kidnap and use as a pawn at Liberty Island, he’d always felt a bit sorry for her. Like him, she’d never get control of her mutation. Well, there was still hope for her, but if there was one person qualified to help her, it was the Professor, and he was gone now… Gone, he couldn’t believe it. But Hank was talking. He pulled himself from his own thoughts and concentrated on Hank’s.

“She’d had a tough few months. First the announcement of the Cure, then she had some troubles with her relationship,” Hank saw Scott’s speculative look and so he explained, “Gossip spreads fast in this school and perpetuates, as you well know. It seems Mr. Drake wasn’t completely faithful. Young Rogue left to take the Cure and came back a changed woman. She set Mr. Drake free to be with the young Miss. Pryde, and put up with the whispers that have followed her since. Some students here continue to call her a traitor, or weak for taking something meant to deny who she is. Ororo couldn’t find anyone else to teach English, so she took on that role in addition to her Art classes and then the news came that the cure wasn’t permanent.”

Scott sighed, “She must have been devastated.”

“We all thought so, too. She wasn’t,” Hank said. “She didn’t seem to react at all, in fact. She carried on preparing her classroom and painting pieces for the walls all over the mansion. She went with Ororo on some of the home visits to bring new students to the school. She hasn’t been back into the Danger Room since before…” Hank stopped.

“She told me,” Scott said simply, interrupting.

“Indeed? Well, she hasn’t been into the Danger Room since before the Phoenix came to the mansion. She has a couple of months until her mutation will manifest itself again, and when it does, Magneto won’t be far behind.”

“He’s going to take revenge for your curing him,” Scott deduced.

Hank sighed, the regret in his eyes at conflict with his proud stance, “Yes, we believe he will.”

\---

 “Two bowls of soup?” Ororo asked from behind Rogue’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me Hank’s trying to fatten you up?”

Rogue laughed, and it drew more than one curious look. It had been a long time since Rogue had a reason to laugh, even more since anyone had seen it. “No, he’s not, but I’m quite happy the way I am,” she replied. “Actually, the second bowl is for Scott. He’s awake.”

“Really?” Ororo gasped. She realised Rogue wouldn’t lie about something like that, but it was pure relief that flooded her when Rogue nodded. “Well, let me help you with that bowl, and let us get down there. How is he?” Ororo got a third bowl for her, and a fourth for Hank, and she and Rogue made their way out of the dining hall, followed be many curious stares.

“He’s a little confused. Jean tried to kill him, but he found himself in the woods, then in an ambulance, and then on the steps. He doesn’t remember much else,” Rogue carefully kept her grip on the bowls as the lift descended with a light jolt. “Jean had something to do with the loss of his optic blasts. She told him she could control it, and she got him to take of his glasses. Then, he could see.”

“He spoke about Jean?” Ororo was amazed. After Jean’s death, she’d tried to speak to Scott but he’d shut everyone out. If he did come out of his room, the sheer memory of Jean would be enough to drive him back in, let alone the mention of her. Rogue was an angel, Ororo was sure of it, to be able to get Scott to mention his dead fiancée at all.

Rogue nodded. “He did, and… I wasn’t sure if I, if I was really, I mean if I should be the one, but he asked-“

Ororo smiled. “Calm down, Rogue. What is it you’re trying to say?”

“I told him what happened with the Phoenix, and the Professor, and Alcatraz; all of it that I knew. I wasn’t there, so I didn’t feel I should be the one to pass it on, if I’d got it wrong,” Rogue bit her lower lip nervously, “but once he remembered what she’d done, he wanted to know and knew that I knew.”

“How did he take it?” Scott wasn’t a violent person, nor was he excessively emotional. Ororo thought he wasn’t likely to lash out in grief, but Jean’s death had changed him so much….

The lift stopped, and Rogue paused a few feet from the med lab, so that neither Scott nor Hank would see them, though Hank would certainly hear them. “Ororo, it was like he knew. He knew the Jean he saw at the lake wasn’t the Jean who’d died. He knew she’d changed and it was like he’d already let her go. It was the Professor’s death he took hardest.”

Ororo nodded, and took a deep breath before inviting Rogue to walk into the med lab ahead of her. Rogue nodded, and the smile returned to her face. “You’ll never guess what the gale blew in,” she said as she walked in, and it was enough to ignite a smile on Ororo’s face as she followed.

“Oh, Scott,” she whispered. Seeing him sitting up, his eyes displayed as she’d never seen before, with Hank on one side and Rogue moving a second seat to the other so they all could sit, it was impossible to deny: Scott really was alive.

Alive, and just as pleased to see her as she was to see him. “Hey, Ororo,” he opened his arms out, and his oldest friend in the mansion put down her bowls of soup and ran forward to hug him.

“I’m so sorry, Scott! We were there, and we didn’t know, we just assumed!” Ororo was openly sobbing into Scott’s shoulder, and he was doing his best to sooth her.

“Shush, now,” Scott urged, “You couldn’t have known, and it was more important that you tried to help Jean and stop her getting out and doing damage. I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”

Rogue, if she was an impolite young woman, would have butted in with a “that’s what I said” or an “I told you so”, but as it was, she was well raised and both Ororo and Scott meant a great deal to her in the family she’d found at Xavier’s Institute. She wasn’t going to ruin their reunion with an ill-advised statement like that. She picked up her spoon and began to eat some of her soup. Hank, leaving the two to their privacy, took one of the bowls Ororo had abandoned and took to his own soup.

The mention of Jean had set Ororo off on another tangent. “We killed her, Scott. She wasn’t Jean any more and there was nothing we could do to help her.”

“I know,” Scott said, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he stroked Ororo’s hair. “I know, and I forgive you.”

This only made Ororo cling tighter, and Scott’s eyes shot open. He looked to Rogue desperately for help. Rogue grinned, and made a show of thinking about it before saying, “Ororo, his ribs aren’t fully healed, you might-“

“Oh, of course,” Ororo pulled back, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry.”

“Do me a favour, yeah? Stop apologising?” Scott smiled, his hands sliding down to her arms as she moved away. “And give me some food – I’m starved.”

Everyone grinned, and Rogue used her spoon to point at the bowl she’d placed on the bedside table. “Calm down, Scooter, it’s just there.”

Scott gave a mocking scowl, and picked up his own spoon and bowl. “You’ve gotten cheekier.”

“And you’ve gotten livelier, everyone just has to deal,” Rogue replied with a wink.

Ororo, for her part, just watched. This Scott… He wasn’t the Scott who rode off to Alkali Lake. He wasn’t even the Scott she’d known before Logan had arrived at the mansion and changed Scott’s relationship with Jean forever. He was a whole new Scott; the same Scott, just lighter; a happy young Scott if she’d ever seen it. He still had that restraint she was used to seeing, but he joked just like the old Scott. She could see the slightly haunted look in his eyes, but he was almost flirting with Rogue. It was a joy to see, but at the same time very worrying. Was he just burying his pain and trying to deal with it in another way? Was Rogue in danger of being hurt? Ororo shook her head, scoffing at the ridiculous thoughts she was having. Scott had loved and still did love Jean, and that wasn’t ever going to change. But he certainly wasn’t the type to try and drown his sorrows in alcohol or women, new Scott or not. And if Rogue was the one cheering Scott up, getting him to talk about Jean and deal with it consciously, then she wasn’t going to tarnish that with her overactive imagination. Well, not tarnish. Would it be so bad to see Rogue happy; to see Scott happy again?

Scott could feel Ororo’s eyes fixed on him, and tried to concentrate on his soup. It was cream. It wasn’t pink, or rose, it was cream – a sort of beige colour that he hadn’t seen in almost thirteen years. The walls of the med lab were a blinding white, just like Storm’s hair. He’d gathered that it was white, but he’d never see her hair as anything other than shades of pink. He hadn’t seen any of the mansion in anything other than tones of red. He hadn’t appreciated the creamed coffee tone of Ororo’s skin. He hadn’t appreciated the colour of milked coffee. He hadn’t seen Hank as anything other than a mass of purple fur – it was jarring to see him so blue. And Rogue’s hair was so dark a shade of brown it was almost black, not a deep red the same colour he knew blood was, glasses or no, and the streaks she’d been left with were platinum white, not a quirky pink like it had always seemed. Sometimes, people in one shade had seemed quite ridiculous, Scott remembered, almost fondly. His skin was more tanned than he remembered, and the ivory sheets were just something else. He wanted to close his eyes, the colours were so vibrant and so different.

He polished off his soup, and Hank offered to take the bowls upstairs. “Thanks, Hank,” Scott said, though his voice quickly took a pleading tone. “Can I get out of here any time soon?”

Hank paused. “I don’t see why not, though I’d like you to stay here overnight just in case, and tomorrow I’d like to run some tests and see what’s going on with your mutation. However, after that you’re free to move-“

“We’ll sort your room out, if you like,” Ororo offered. “We packed everything up, but the boxes are just sitting in your room. Unless, you’d like another room?”

“I think…” Scott’s voice cracked and it was the first time Ororo had seen him show any negative emotion since she walked in. “I think I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll ask Elisha to move them to the vacant room on the fourth floor, if that’s alright,” Ororo offered. It was the room next to Rogue’s, and it was the only other large, single room left. It was only teachers on that floor, anyway, with Rogue’s room, Bobby’s room (which was Kitty’s too, for all intents and purposes) and the empty room in that small wing of the mansion. Elisha was the only telekinetic in the mansion, but she had great control over her powers and with Poitr’s graduation and flying of the nest, someone else was needed for the heavy work.

Scott breathed deeply. “Yeah, that’s great, Ororo. Thanks.”

“And it’s a half day tomorrow, being Friday and all, if you want any help…”

“No,” Scott said firmly, though not unkindly. “No, I’d like to do that myself.”

“In that case,” Hank ordered, “No heavy lifting. You get one warning, Scott.” He walked out with the empty soup bowls.

“Yes sir,” Scott gave a joke-y salute which was broken by a wide yawn.

Rogue smiled, finally interrupting the plan-making. “I think we ought to leave our fearless leader to his bed-rest,” she said, helping Scott to shuffle down the bed and adjusting his pillows.

“Night, Scott,” Ororo dropped a kiss to his forehead, squeezed his hand and walked out, visibly more relaxed than Rogue had seen her in weeks, perhaps months.

Rogue said good night and was about to follow Ororo’s path out, but Scott called her back. “Rogue, wait,” he called, and waited until she was back by the bed before he continued. “Thanks, for… for everything. For being there when I arrived, for being here when I woke up, for sitting with me and talking to me and confiding in me and trusting me and just… all of it.” He stopped babbling and stared at her intently. “Thank you, so much.”

Through her blushes, Rogue managed to speak. “Scott, it was no trouble.”

“It probably was,” Scott contradicted her, “But you didn’t have to, and you couldn’t have known that I’d appreciate it so much.”

“True, but I was glad to do it. We all owe you enough to give you a familiar face when you wake up,” Rogue insisted.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Just accept my thanks, would you? God, I wouldn’t have tried if I knew it’d give me this much hassle.”

“Oh, get over it Scott, I don’t need thanking. We’re all here for you, just like you’d be here for us.”

He gave an awkward smile, and Rogue couldn’t quite believe just how blue Scott’s eyes were, even with their sleepy dullness. “Yeah, I know, but thanks anyway.”

Rogue growled and threw her hands up in the air, “I give up!” Scott’s soft chuckles followed her out.

With no sound breaking the silence of the lower levels, he drifted off to sleep easily.

When he next opened his eyes, the lights of the lab were still on and for a moment he thought he had only been asleep a short while. However, the porridge by his bed and the note propped next to it suggested otherwise. There weren’t any clocks in the med lab, but breakfast had obviously passed and lessons must have started for Rogue not to be here. There was a flash of disappointment as Scott realised he must have missed her visiting, but he picked up the note by the porridge anticipating a good morning from her in writing at least.

He wasn’t disappointed in that regard.

_ Morning sleepyhead, _

_How is it that after ten days in a coma, you can still sleep through tea and breakfast? Not rested enough, huh? Enjoy your porridge – it was the least offensive thing on the breakfast menu so I hope you’re okay with it. Hope all goes well with the tests Hank has planned, and if you’re sure you don’t want help with your unpacking, drop your neighbour a knock when you get bored._

_ Rogue _

‘Packing,’ he remembered. He really wasn’t looking forward to that, but it was a necessary evil. It meant dealing with all of Jean’s belongings, though, and he wasn’t convinced he was ready for it. She was dead and he’d accepted that. He’d loved Jean and she died to save all of them, and he had to live a life worthy of her sacrifice. She wasn’t coming back, in many ways, she hadn’t at all. Scott sighed and looked at his breakfast offering.

He wasn’t a great fan of porridge, but Rogue had put some raspberry jam in there and it was actually quite nice.

No-one had appeared when he finished the porridge, and he was starting to feel restless. His ribs weren’t feeling too bad, and his headache had receded quite a bit… he may as well get the circulation going in his legs before Hank came along and get him to glare at things and put him through an MRI scan. He threw back the thermal blanket to find himself in a rather ripe pair of sweatpants. Nice, he thought. It seems a shower should be the first order of business. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and gingerly slid off it, to put weight on his feet. His legs protested with violent pins-and-needles, which distracted nicely from the freezing floor. It was painful, but if there was one thing that Scott could handle, it was pain. He stomped his feet a few times, and slowly the feeling ebbed away.

Still no sign of Hank.

Scott left the med lab and walked the short distance to the changing rooms used for Danger Room sessions and missions among the X-Men. There were showers there, but he desperately hoped that no-one had cleared out his locker. He knew there was a change of clothes in there and he wasn’t keen on having to go upstairs topless if his locker had been empty. As he finally caught sight of a clock, he was even less keen on going upstairs – the five minute lesson crossover was only moments away. “Please still be here,” Scott muttered, a little amused that he was relying on his team mates’ inability to move on.

Well, there was still a locker with his name on it. He pulled it open to find it exactly as he left it, as far as he remembered.

“Score.”

\---

Hank was adjusting the settings on the MRI scanner when Scott re-entered the med lab, clean and refreshed and in a t-shirt, sweatpants and trainers.

“Morning, Hank,” he said from the door, though Hank would have certainly heard him coming.

“Good morning, Scott. Feeling better, I see? If you’re ready, hop on to the bed, and we can get this done quickly and relatively painlessly.” Scott sighed, nodded and headed for the bed, and Hank got a sphygmomanometer and vials. Scott had anticipated the MRI scan, but wasn’t sure why there was a need for blood samples and a measurement of his blood pressure. At Scott’s quizzical look – so much easier to interpret, Hank noted, without his eyes covered – Hank explained. “We want to be sure that you weren’t forcibly given the cure while you were unconscious, or that the Phoenix didn’t suppress your X-gene in a similar manner.”

“Fair enough,” Scott said flatly. He was fairly certain he wasn’t cured. He felt the same after all, but then again, Rogue hadn’t changed. She didn’t seem to have, at least. Granted he didn’t know her fantastically well, but she seemed… the same. A little quieter in wider company, and a lot more confident in herself… but still very much the same, sweet girl who’d come to the mansion almost four years ago now. Four years. Scott was baffled; it certainly hadn’t seemed like so long, but Rogue certainly had grown up. She wasn’t the shy, awkward sixteen year old that Magneto kidnapped but she was calmer, more focussed. Changed and yet… just as she’d always been. She was almost twenty, Scott was sure of it. He thought he remembered a birthday party Bobby and John had given her around the beginning of term, perhaps two years ago. He’d have to ask…

“Scott,” Hank waved a blue hand in front of Scott’s face, and Scott realised he hadn’t heard a word the man had said.

“Sorry, Hank, I was miles away,” he held out his arm for Hank to take blood.

Hank busied himself, his hands steady and gentle despite their size. “Wherever you were, it must have been nice; you had quite the smile on your face.” When Scott wouldn’t meet his eyes, and flushed ever so slightly, Hank almost drew back in surprise. Thoughts about a happy time with Jean wouldn’t have embarrassed the young man, which meant it was thoughts about someone else bringing the smile to his lips and a bright light to his eyes. Hank would have liked to think it was Rogue, but he was rather fond of the girl and he was possibly just seeing what he wanted to see. He decided not to call Scott on it. He took two vials from a drawer for the blood, more than enough to test for the presence of cure serum and for any other interferences with the natural order of things.

“Have you tried to use your blasts at all, since waking up?” Hank asked as the first vial filled.

Scott shook his head, “No. I didn’t want to accidentally blow a hole in the wall or anything, just in case my mutation is just waiting for me to bring it back out, or whatever.”

“Hmm,” Hank filled the second vial. “I’d suggest against it or now, until we know what’s going on.” He handed Scott a strip of gauze as the man nodded to indicate his acquiescence. “Press that to it for a couple of minutes,” Hank directed, though he knew Scott would know what to do. The doctor labelled the vials and set them in a tray on his desk. Once he was satisfied that Scott wasn’t going to bleed out, he got the younger man to lie down. “I’ll not insult your intelligence by telling you what I’m doing,” Hank told Scott, after all, Hank had given Scott his very first MRI when he’d come to the mansion, eyes clenched tight for fear of blasting everything to smithereens.

“You always did have the best bed-side manner, Hank,” Scott laughed, finding the inside of the MRI scanner fascinating; after all, it wasn’t like he could usually open his eyes inside the thing. He just hoped that it would show something… anything to explain what had happened to his mutation. For the moment, he was enjoying the ability to see as he was meant to, but without his mutation he was just a glorified Phys Ed teacher, and little use as an X-Man.

Quickly it was over, and Scott was back out. “All done?”

Hank nodded, “Yes, but remember what I said: no heavy lifting and no overstressing yourself. I don’t want to see you back on that bed any time soon, boy.”

“Yes, sir, Doctor Beast, sir,” Scott joked, and he hopped of the bed with no problem whatsoever, sauntering out. Hank just watched him go, incredulous at Scott’s upbeat attitude.

Scott stepped into the elevator and let it take him up to the main body of the school. He hadn’t really registered how long he’d spent in the shower, having blood taken and having MRI scans of his brain done, but the digital clock in the elevator showed it was passed midday and so lessons had certainly finished for the weekend. It was both a blessing and a curse – Rogue would have finished teaching, but students would be roaming the halls, and he wasn’t quite ready to explain himself. He wasn’t sure if he even could.

Oh well, he’d just try to get to his new room and-

‘Of course,’ Scott remembered, ‘unpacking.’ There would be box upon box of his and Jean’s belongings, mixed up and in no order and he’d have to sort it all out. Jean had no family left, so really all of her belongings would either be kept for sentimental value or donated. But as he exited the elevator to a thankfully empty hall, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face all of those memories. Oh, he couldn’t really get out of it – his clothes and other necessities like bed-sheets would be in those boxes too and he couldn’t just wear X-branded workout gear forever – but maybe he could put it off awhile. With that in mind, he didn’t even open the door to his own room, but walked straight on to the next one, hoping that he’d gotten Rogue’s room right.

He knocked, but there was no answer. “Rogue?” he called through the door. Still there was no answer. It was an invasion of privacy, he knew as it did it, but he tried the door and it opened. Well, if she wouldn’t keep it locked... He didn’t close it behind him; he wasn’t intent on staying long, and the room was empty anyway. The bed was made, the lilac duvet smoothed over neatly and the pillows arranged perfectly. Rogue was a surprisingly neat girl and he wondered (not for the first time) how she’d managed to share a room with Jubilee and stay sane. The room was sparsely furnished, with a wardrobe, drawers and bookcase, and little in the way of general home comforts.

There was a stereo, but no television, and two huge canvases adorned the space above the bed and the wall that separated the ensuite, opposite the window. One was a tasteful oil seascape, the sky painted in purples, reds and pinks in the last throes of sunset; the other was a still life, flowers caught between the prime of their life and the beginnings of the inevitable wilt and a table full of escaped fruit, seemingly rolling away from the overturned fruit bowl in their distinct acrylic. They were… intense. Perfect, Scott thought, and beautiful, incredibly beautiful. Scott immediately felt like he was intruding on something private as he looked at the sunset above Rogue’s bed, and he decided to retreat from the room and go find her somewhere else. She was possibly still in her classroom.

She had the biggest classroom, if memory served, and that would be the one on the ground floor along from the foyer. Amazed that he’d managed not to run into anyone yet, he descended the stairs down to Rogue’s teaching space.

It was unlocked, but empty. Did this woman have an issue with locks? The opposite wall was one long set of windows, and the early afternoon sun lit up the many hundreds of books lining the other walls in bookcases. There was a stack of easels in one corner, meaning she must have just taught English rather than Art. On each of the three walls, above the five feet of bookcase, were canvases of varying size and some framed sketches. There were more still life paintings, not quite as …chaotic as the one she had in her room, but just as deep and colourful, and there were landscapes of every kind. The sketches were of people and buildings – there was even one of Professor Xavier in his wheelchair on the balcony which had taken pride of place in the centre of the wall opposite Rogue’s desk. Every time she looked up she was bound to see it. Scott, now desperate just to talk to Rogue - if only to tell her how talented she was - was about to try the office adjoining the classroom, but he caught a movement outside in the gardens which caught his attention. It was Rogue, he was certain, standing next to a marble block and what appeared to be a small obelisk.

They were headstones, he realised. He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him and he walked outside.

The obelisk had a brass portrait of Xavier on it (and Scott felt his gut clench painfully) but it wasn’t the one Rogue was standing with. She was in front of the only marble block, though it was clear that there had been one sat next to it; there was a small, dug-over trench the same length and width of the one remaining headstone.

“It was yours,” Rogue said softly. She turned to him, and he could finally see the name on the headstone. He’d realised that there would be something to mark her passing – he’d stopped anything going up before he left – but seeing it there, engraved… His breath shuddered out of him. “They removed it yesterday, when you woke up and it was clear you were definitely here to stay. And once we’d put up yours, we thought it only right that Jean…”

“Yeah,” Scott breathed. “It’s just; actually seeing it there, it makes it so real, and so final.” After all, it was now. The silence stretched, though not entirely uncomfortably, as they both stared at Jean’s headstone. Eventually, Scott sighed, his eyes clenched tightly as he was determined not to cry. He’d cried too much. “I was going there, to Alkali Lake, to say goodbye.” Rogue’s breath hitched, though he hadn’t noticed. His eyes were tracking the engraved letters of Jean’s name on the pinkish grey marble. “I’d realised that she wouldn’t want me to grieve forever, and she’d want me to honour the sacrifice she made to save all of us by… living my life. I took hearing her voice as a sign. I told Logan as I left that some people just don’t heal as fast as he does, but the truth is that I was ready to start healing. And yet, without a grave, the Lake was the natural choice to close one chapter of my life and start another. The water would have crushed her – should have crushed her – but she’d be there and I could make my peace, come back here and move on with my life.” He laughed, but there was little humour to it. “It didn’t quite work out the way I planned.”

“Life rarely does,” Rogue looked down at her bare hands as the silence stretched before them again.

“Rogue, I don’t want to unpack her stuff on my own. I thought I’d be able to do it but as much as I want it done and I want to get on with my life… she’s still there and still a part of it and I don’t want to lose that, don’t get me wrong, but, I need to start building my own life, as me – without Jean.” Scott sighed. “I guess this is me asking for your help, so that I can sort out her clothes for donation, and to help sort out our belongings into stuff I want to keep and stuff I don’t.”

She turned around, nodding. “If you’re sure, because the last thing I want to do is intrude on your memories, or your grief.”

“I’m done grieving,” Scott said. “I want your help to move on.”

\---

“I’ve never seen the mansion in colours other than reds,” Scott admitted as they walked back to the mansion in silence. “I came here with my eyes closed, and then I got my glasses and everything was crimson or pink, scarlet or burgundy. There are so many shades of red that there aren’t even names for.”

Rogue couldn’t help it; Scott had piqued her curiosity and he should know better than to dangle a statement like that in her face. “How come? Why did you come here with your eyes closed – besides the obvious, Mr. Smart Ass,” she added when she saw the small sarcastic smile that had crept onto his face.

“I was in a plane crash, about eighteen years ago,” Scott’s eyes were now focussed on the ground, and Rogue could tell that this wasn’t going to be a great story just from that body language, openings about plane crashes not-withstanding. She was going to tell him that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t have to tell her, but he seemed so far off and the words kept flowing, so she held her tongue and let him speak. “My parents and brother died, and I had brain damage. It destroyed the part of my brain that would allow me to control my mutation, and so when I manifested a few years later, I blew a hole in the roof of my foster parents’ home. I kept my eyes bandaged up so tightly that I couldn’t open them even if I wanted to. My foster parents dropped me off at a children’s’ home and wanted nothing more to do with me. The Professor found me there and brought me here. Jean was a medical student, helping Hank who was teaching as well as acting as a doctor and conducting research into the mutant phenomenon. He discovered what was wrong, and made me my ruby quartz glasses so that I’d be able to see again.” He smiled at the fond memory. “Jean was the first thing I saw. I was seventeen years old, she was twenty four and I fell in love with her right there.”

Scott sniffed, though Rogue recognised that he hadn’t cried. She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to hide the perceived weakness of it, or whether he just didn’t want to shed any more tears, but either way found the urge to reach out and try and comfort him hard to resist. Hard, but thankfully not impossible. “I’m sure Jean would have loved to have given you the chance to see all this in it’s technicolour glory, no matter how temporary it may be.” When Scott finally nodded in agreement, she pushed on. “How did Hank’s tests go?”

“Oh, it was a piece of cake,” Scott brightened. “A quick MRI and some blood samples just to check everything is in working order, and no-one sneakily jabbed me with the cure.” He realised that the comment could come across as insensitive to Rogue, and so he flashed a wide smile, hoping it may show her that he didn’t mean any harm. It seemed to work, but she still sounded a little morose when she replied that he’d probably have woken up and noticed if he’d been given the Cure, as it wasn’t a peaceful transformation.

It was a strange description, he noted. He would have expected “unpleasant” or “uncomfortable” as opposed to “not peaceful”. He wasn’t sure whether or not to call her on it, but she took the decision out of his hands. “I’m sure Hank will find an explanation, though in the meantime, I’d enjoy the colours. You don’t know how long it’ll last, and I know you won’t take it for granted.”

“Like the way we all take touching for granted?” Scott couldn’t help himself sometimes, but he wasn’t about to apologise for it.

Rogue nodded. “Yeah, just like that.”

\---

Scott sat with a boxful of photos and trinkets, while Rogue was the one to sort out the clothes. She separated Scott’s from Jean’s but drew the line at the two smaller boxes of underwear; she just hoped that when the room had been emptied, the boys had put the two sets in separate boxes. Every now and again she’d shoot a glance at Scott, checking he was alright. Once or twice he was looking back at her, or the clothes she was folding and piling on the bed. She smiled gently when she caught his eyes once. “I’d never really thought about it before, but most of her wardrobe is shades of red, browns and some black.”

“I asked her about it once, and she said ‘I want you to see me as I am’,” Scott was staring at a photo in his hands.

“She was an amazing woman,” Rogue replied, folding another red shirt.

Scott nodded. “Yeah, she was.” He opened another packet of photos and laughed. “God, I remember this!” Rogue set the shirt down and found a space amongst the books, CDs and figurines to join Scott on the floor. The photo was of Jean and Ororo in fancy dress – Jean as a snowflake and Ororo as a nurse. Ororo looked no older than Rogue was now. “It was Ororo’s eighteenth, she’d only been here a few months but she and Jean hit it off immediately,” Scott smiled, fondly. “Ororo had never been to a fancy dress party but once we’d explained, she was all for it and thought it would be hilarious to dress up as Jean. Well, Jean decided that fair was fair and made herself that costume.” Scott handed her another photo. “Even the Professor dressed up.” Rogue couldn’t stop the giggles bubbling forth at the sight of the Professor, dressed in a suit as always, and sporting a coned party hat. He didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed, either, in fact he had quite the indulgent smile on his face.

“He looks so proud of you,” she commented, “all of you.”

“He was proud of everyone at this school,” Scott took the photo back and grinned. “He’d be so proud of you – you’ve brightened up every wall of this school with your art-work.”

Rogue flushed and muttered sadly, “Yeah, but it’s not my talent is it?”

Scott scoffed. “You’re the one who imagined those pieces, who sketched them, refined them and put brush to canvas, aren’t you?” He wouldn’t continue until he had agreement, Rogue realised, and so she nodded. “Well then, it doesn’t matter how you came by the talent, what does matter is that you’re using it and now it’s as much yours as his.” He put the photos down and turned to face Rogue properly. “Your art is amazing, Rogue. It’s deep, and beautiful and touching. And you have such range – most artists would kill for it! You shouldn’t deny something like that.”

She sighed, tears welling up in her eyes, “Every time I finish a sketch, or a canvas I feel so guilty. David was in a coma for three weeks for me to have this talent; his family suffered. I don’t even know how much he recovered, or whether he can even hold a pencil anymore let alone paint.”

“And unless you ask, then you’ll never know. Have you had any contact with your parents?” Scott asked. He didn’t know much about how Rogue had left home, but from what he gathered she’d had a good childhood and a loving family. Up until she’d manifested, that is.

She shook her head. “I don’t think they’d want to hear from me. I ran out on them, plain and simple. They went to bed that night, I was so distraught I wouldn’t let them anywhere near me. When I was sure they weren’t going to leave their room, I packed a bag, grabbed all the money I’d been saving for my trip to Alaska and all the money I could find in the house and I left on the late night bus out.”

“You were headed for Alaska?”

“Not really,” Rogue admitted. “I just wanted to get as far from my family as possible – I didn’t want to hurt them. The bus was headed for Dallas, and after that I hopped buses north through Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, up through South and North Dakota and into Canada. I’d been telling David about how I was going to go to Alaska before college just before I…,” Rogue swallowed self-consciously. “A trucker took me over the border to Laughlin City where I found Logan in a bar, fighting. He got kicked out after getting into a brawl and getting his claws out, and I hid in his trailer. He found me and was going to leave me but eventually took me with him, even though he had no idea where he was headed.”

“They could have been worrying themselves sick, Rogue, you should at least write to them and tell them you’re safe, and happy,” he advised.

“Maybe,” was all she said as she stood and went back to sorting out another box of clothes.

\---

Scott had found that going through his and Jean’s belongings hadn’t been quite the ordeal he’d been expected. All of their photographs commemorated happy events, and even if he had no interest in her CDs or many of her books, he knew that some other grateful person would, and that was enough of a comfort. He took out his favourite framed photograph of him and Jean, taken three years ago when he’d taken Jean dancing for their anniversary and put it on the desk. Over the hours, the room had felt more and more like his own as he shelved his books and put away his clothes, and as Rogue made his bed and set up his games consoles, DVD player and stereo. Jean’s clothes had been put in one box, and the belongings he didn’t want to hang on to where in another. In the background, Rogue was messing with his radio settings, trying to find a station playing classical pieces. Instead, she caught the announcement that it was half five and there was some breaking news coming up in just a moment.

“Wow, it’s tea-time already,” Scott blinked, stunned that the work had gone so quickly.

Rogue turned the radio off. “Are you ready to face them all, because I could always just go get you something.” She assumed Scott would be able to handle some solid food, and if not then there was always some soup option. She was just worried as to how the student body were going to react. Of course, they’d be happy, but they were a curious bunch who’d take any opportunity to bombard Scott with questions. “You know it’ll be like the Spanish Inquisition.”

“The difference being that I expect it,” Scott quipped, eliciting an eye-roll from Rogue and not the laugh he’d hoped. She grinned at him indulgently even so, and asked him again if he wanted to face the students so soon. “I’ll be fine, and besides, I think they need some good news.”

“Having to put up with your jokes again on a daily basis is not necessarily good news, Scott,” Rogue teased, leading the way out of the door. “Black market sales of ear-muffs will soar.”

Scott gave her a shove. “Well winter’s coming up, I’m sure they’ll appreciate warm ears. Anyway, I’m not teaching them, am I, so they won’t necessarily talk to me on the daily basis.”

“You can have your job back if you like, God knows I’m not qualified to teach it after all,” she offered, though really she was quite enjoying teaching English. However, if Scott wanted it back, she decided, she’d gladly give it up and stick to Art, but Scott shook his head.

"No, I don’t think so. Not yet at least. I think Ororo would appreciate some help with the general day-to-day running of the school, and the Professor had been training me up for it before Jean died,” even he noticed the slight hesitation in his voice as he said it aloud, “I can pass on his pearls of wisdom.”

There were students coming out of their rooms, following them down the stairs to the dining hall and whispering. Both Scott and Rogue were ignoring them the best they could, but it wasn’t easy. The younger girls were pointing and muttering, explaining to the confused newcomers just why this guy was a big deal, and why this girl was a big deal, and what a big deal it was that they were walking down the corridor talking together without glasses and gloves respectively. It was bugging Rogue more than it was Scott. “Can’t they just shut up? Surely Ororo would have made an announcement?”

“Maybe she’s waiting until I turn up in the public eye again?” Scott suggested.

Rogue shrugged, walking into the dining hall to dead silence. “I think you might have something there.” Scott rolled his eyes and walked forward to get some food, Rogue trailing behind him, slightly less comfortable with the intense scrutiny despite all the experience she had with it. Scott picked up some casserole, hoping that it wasn’t too much solid food at once for his underused stomach. Rogue got the pasta he’d rather have had, and she led him to the table where Ororo, Hank, Bobby and Kitty were waiting for them. Rogue took the seat next to Bobby, opposite the other three.

“Welcome back, Mr. Summers,” Kitty said, giving Rogue a smile too. “Hey, Rogue.”

“Please, call me Scott. I’m not a teacher at the moment after all,” Scott offered, sitting down next to Rogue.

“If you want to teach, I’m sure we can-“ Ororo started, but Rogue uncharacteristically interrupted, though not rudely.

“It’s okay Ororo,” she assured, “We’ve talked about it and he doesn’t want his post back just yet.”

Scott smiled gratefully at Rogue. “Yeah, I thought I’d be a man of leisure for a while, and give you a hand sorting the school out and eventually get back in the Danger Room.”

Ororo nodded, “I’d really appreciate that. I feel like I’ve just been flung in at the deep end, and I’m only just learning how to tread water.” The pointing and staring was really starting to get to Rogue now, and she managed to resist the urge to turn around and shout at the kids and instead asked Ororo if she was going to make an announcement about Scott. “If you’d like me to?” Ororo asked him. At his nod, she stood up and cleared her throat. The students had obviously been waiting for just that thing because they all shut up instantly. Ororo dipped her head in thanks. “I know you’re all curious as to how Mr. Summers has made it back to us, and that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s here with us and he’s here to stay, so do him a favour and let him get used to the chaos of the school again.” She was about to sit down, but a hand went up. Ororo’s surprise wasn’t well hidden, but she welcomed the inquiry anyway.

“Does this mean Rogue won’t be teaching English anymore?” Scott was torn between betrayal at the young girl’s disappointed tone, and amusement at Rogue’s mortified expression. She obviously didn’t realise just how big an impression she’d made on the younger students. Bobby was sniggering and even Kitty was trying to hide a smile.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Scott stood up and turned to face the majority of the students. “I’m not going back to teaching for now, because Rogue is more than capable of teaching the material, but I will be helping Ms. Munroe out with running the school because everyone knows she’s doing far too much for one person to handle.” He grinned at Ororo as they both sat back down and continued with their meals.

“So, Rogue, has Jubilee exacted her revenge yet?” Kitty asked.

Bobby turned to his ex-girlfriend with a grin, “Oh, Rogue, what did you do?”

Laughing, Rogue told them. “I told Jubilee not to try and take advantage of us being friends and my being her teacher otherwise I’d spill some of her more embarrassing stories.”

“Yeah,” Kitty pointed out, “but you said it in front of the whole class, after slamming down the new kid, Jeffrey, after he said that putting up some prints of art on the walls didn’t qualify her to teach Art. He didn’t realise that it was all her work, not some store bought decoration and once Rogue mentioned that, he shut up pretty quickly.”

“He sounded just like John used to when he was at his most annoying,” Rogue said, mostly for Bobby’s benefit.

Bobby sympathised. “Ugh, how did you put up with it?”

Rogue shrugged. “Like Kitty said, he shut up pretty quickly after he realised it was my stuff on the walls.”

“They are stunning, Rogue,” Ororo complimented. “I’ve had so many comments from the students, and from the parents last weekend, they really do open up the corridors.”

Scott nudged Rogue in the side gently, as if to say ‘I told you so’ as she blushed furiously. “Thanks, Ororo. Hey, Bobby, how are-“

“Ms. Munroe!” Jones was in the doorway, looking frantically around the dining hall, and when Ororo stood up and he knew where she was, he ran over to her. “It’s all over the news – the class twos.” Rogue shot out of her seat and was out of the hall and into the rec-room before Ororo had a chance to say or do anything.

The broadcaster was outside a hospital in Saskatchewan, Canada, and the banner across the bottom of the screen read clearly: CLASS TWO MUTANTS BEGIN TO REGAIN ABILITIES. “…admitted two hours ago after undergoing a seizure in a local shopping centre and as we understand it, regained her ability en-route,” the correspondent relayed. “Doctors are not disclosing what it is this mutant can do, but we have been informed that she is not, in fact, the first class two mutant to reactivate and there are suggestions that the mutations are actually coming back stronger. With the reactivation, doctors working in conjunction with Worthington labs have finally been able to put a timetable on reactivation for the other classes and it stands as follows.”

This was it; this was the deadline she’d been waiting for. She knew Scott, Ororo, Hank, Bobby and Kitty were behind her, no doubt with numerous other students all just waiting to see what she’d do. Rogue found herself dropping into the sofa numbly. Scott made an aborted motion to do… something, anything to show his support. Ororo was the only one to see it, catching the jerky movement out of the corner of her eye as she watched the correspondent on the screen consult a sheet of paper in her hand.

“Doctors are confident that within the next two weeks, all of the class twos who took the cure when it was first released to the public will regain the effects of their mutation; that’s by the end of the next two weeks. The class three mutants are expected to have regained their abilities within the next four to six weeks, that’s the class threes, and the class fours will reactivate in approximately six to ten weeks. Obviously, with no class five mutants known in existence, there is no idea of how it could effect their mutation had they taken the cure, but doctors are never-the-less confident that within the next two months, all mutants who took the cure within the first week of it’s release to the public will no longer be subject to its effects. Now, this has serious ramifications on the political and scientific stage, what with the mutant terrorist Mag-“

“Six to ten weeks,” Rogue said flatly. “Fair enough.” She stood up, flashed Scott a tight smile and headed back to the dining room, aware of every set of eyes on her. ‘Six to ten weeks,’ Rogue thought as she sat back down in front of her pasta. It took another few minutes for any of her friends to make it back to the table as they were listening to what the news corporation had to say about Magneto. Scott was the first to return, and he immediately carried on eating. It was so different from the reaction she’d expected that Rogue found herself just staring at him.

“What,” Scott rubbed at his face anxiously, “do I have gravy on my face or something?”

The look Rogue flashed him was nothing short of complete perplexity. “Aren’t you going to get me to tell you how I’m feeling, or tell me that you’ll be there for me and we’ll find a way to sort it out or …something?!”

Scott calmly carried on eating his cooling casserole. “Nope.” When Rogue didn’t stop staring at him, he set down his cutlery. “I’m not going to make you tell me how you’re feeling because I know you’ll do it anyway, eventually. I don’t need to tell you that I’ll be there for you because you know I will, and we will find a way of helping you, training your stronger powers and absorbed powers, and looking into ways to gain control. I don’t need to say anything,” he said.

Rogue blinked. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

He gave a sort of embarrassed smile and went back to eating. Rogue eyed her pasta disdainfully, and instead watched as Hank, Ororo, Bobby and Kitty returned to the table. Pre-empting any questions, though she wasn’t sure if they’d ask any anyway, Rogue turned to Hank. “Hank, could we start looking into more scientific ways to control my skin? The Professor and I made hardly any headway in four years on the psychological side, and without him or any other skilled telepath around, I doubt that’s a viable way forward.”

Hank nodded, though it was a stunned expression he wore as he replied. “I quite agree, Rogue. In fact, I have been giving this matter some thought and have developed a few ideas, though of course we cannot test them until your ability re-emerges.”

Again, Rogue was so bewildered that all she could do was blink at Hank. He’d been thinking of ways to help her? Why were these people being so supportive; it wasn’t like she was essential or anything. Hank had been investigating on the side, in addition to the frankly astonishing workload he’d had to deal with; it was incredible. “Thanks,” Rogue choked out.

“It’s no problem Rogue,” Hank assured her, “though I’d appreciate you telling me as soon as you feel your mutation reactivating.”

“The gloves may give me away in advance, Doc,” Rogue replied, earning small smiles from all present.

Hank waved a hand in defeat, “That is a very good point.”

As that conversation ebbed, Kitty spoke up, bringing up the one matter no-one wanted to think about. “We’re going to have a serious problem in six to ten weeks, though, and it’s Magneto shaped and it’s going to be angrier and more powerful than before.”

“Yes, though he did get hit with four doses,” Ororo pointed out, “So we could have a bit longer.” As much as they were enjoying the relative peace of late, they had to remember that there was a world out there that hated them, and a man out there who was going to want revenge. Ororo sighed, and silently gave thanks that they had Scott back. She honestly didn’t think she could handle re-mobilising the X-Men alone as well as teaching and running the school. Speaking of Scott’s experience, she turned to look at him as he spoke.

“Not necessarily four times longer, though,” he’d added, deciding that if they were going to talk about Magneto then he was going to get involved. Truth be told, he wasn’t interested in the outside world at the moment, he just wanted to get Rogue back to her room and let her talk to him. After the support she’d shown him lately, he wanted the chance to offer it back. “It will take longer for his system to fight back against the cure’s effects, but not that long.”

Hank nodded, “He’s quite right. If I had to give an estimate I’d say we’re looking at three months, give or take a week, before Magneto regains his control over metal and we’ll have a serious problem on our hands. We can just hope that with a defunct Brotherhood, he’ll wait to strike until he has the force needed.”

“With his powers coming back stronger, he may not need the support,” Bobby said. “And let’s not forget that John got off the island and disappeared. For all we know he found Magneto and is setting up the Brotherhood in preparation, hell, Magneto doesn’t need his powers to prove his capability, most of the Northern Hemisphere knows who he is.”

\---

When enough time had passed that Rogue felt she could make an exit without making it look like she was running away, she excused herself from the company of her friends and headed up to her room. Scott followed her up and took the chance to really study her paintings now that he could. Rogue kicked off her shoes, lay on her bed and curled up. She watched the expressions that crossed Scott’s face as he studied her sunset, hung above the bed. “I painted that a few days after I took the cure,” Rogue said softly. She was desperate to explain it to him, to have him understand, but she wasn’t sure just how to go about it. How do you communicate something so personal and profound? “Have you ever had a day so wonderful, and perfect that you just wanted to stop the sun going down so you could live the day forever?”

He nodded, tearing his eyes from the canvas, and sat next to Rogue and rolled on his side to face her.

“I felt like… the last four years had been one long, amazing day, and then all of a sudden I’d looked out of my window and it was over, and the sun was setting,” her voice was shaking, she knew, but she couldn’t stop it and she was already whispering so she couldn’t hide it. “Except I’d been the one to pull the sun from the sky.”

That definitely wasn’t what Scott had expected to hear. “You regret taking it.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want my powers back, so badly, Scott - I feel incomplete without them. But I don’t want to lose the freedom I’ve had for the past six weeks, and if my powers are going to come back stronger, then what if it takes even less of my touch to kill someone?” She’d been staring at the ceiling, but she finally looked at Scott and saw tears in his eyes. “I can’t be responsible for someone’s death, Scott,” her voice was barely audible, “I just can’t.”

Scott opened his arms and Rogue crawled forward and clung to him. It was a leap in the boundaries of their relationship – whatever that relationship was – but it felt right. It felt good. “You won’t kill someone, Rogue,” Scott soothed, running a hand through her hair as he held her. “I know it. For starters, you’re too careful of everyone else. Hank’s working on it, don’t you see? We all want to help you control it and see you happy. And just think: you’ll soon be able to put your mutation to good use because God knows we’re going to need everyone to protect the school when Magneto decides to strike.”

She pulled away slightly and frowned. “I’ve got your t-shirt wet,” she noted absently and without taking a breath she continued with their conversation, searching Scott’s eyes for some reassurance. “I’m scared, Scott. When I took the cure, it hurt so much. It was hard enough letting the doctors anywhere near me with the needle, having Logan’s memories, and I couldn’t stop shaking and twitching. If this woman in Saskatoon had a seizure, transforming back isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

He heard what she was saying and he took it in, but his eyes were drawn to hers, to her flushed cheeks and dark, damp eyelashes. Her eyes were pink and puffy and she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She looked beautiful, and she was hurting and Scott wasn’t sure what he could do about it. “We’re all going to be here for you. As soon as you feel it coming on,” he ordered, “you come and get me.”

“After I’ve got my gloves,” Rogue continued the pity party but Scott shook his head sharply.

“No, you come straight to me, do you promise?”

She frowned. Why was Scott doing this? Didn’t he realise that he’d get hurt if he tried to help her as her mutation returned? Yet Scott looked like a man on a mission - ironically, Rogue thought, considering the leader of the X-Men was in no physical condition to be on missions yet - and he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Yeah,” she promised, having every intention of carrying a set of gloves with her everywhere, always, in six weeks time.

“Good,” Scott sighed, his arm still around Rogue’s shoulders. “So, what are your plans for this evening?”

She grinned up at him, catching a look at the clock. “Oh, I intend to pass out into blissful sleep about seven o’clock,” she answered.

“How about you post-pone your sleep and watch a movie with me?” he offered, not wanting to lose her company just yet. He wasn’t feeling that tired, after all, and there’s no-one he’d rather spend the time with. It was a surprising realisation, but it was true; it turned out that Rogue was comfortable and engaging company and it was exactly what he needed. He felt he could talk to her, and it wasn’t a one-sided share of information.

Rogue’s instinct was to shrug when she said, “Yeah, sure,” though that would have dislodged Scott’s arm from around her shoulders and she really didn’t want to do that, though she realised that they’d be watching a movie somewhere other than her room and so they’d be moving anyway.

“Great,” Scott beamed, reluctantly pulling away from her and standing up. Rogue marvelled at how his smile made his face look so much younger – not that it was an old face to begin with, not by any means – and how his eyes shone and crinkled slightly. She realised that she was one of very few people to have seen it, and it was humbling. “What do you fancy?”

She blinked, standing and leading the way out of the room - though not after quickly checking her face in the mirror. Not a total disaster. ‘Did he honestly just ask that?’ She thought. “Um, whatever,” she said. “I’m not fussed – your choice.”

“Well, as you discovered this afternoon,” he replied as he opened his door, “My DVD collection is quite extensive.”

“Yeah, I was quite impressed actually,” she smiled cheekily, “I hadn’t pegged you as such a hopeless romantic.”

Scott gasped, “I am not hopeless – they’re classics!”

“Of course, Scott, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Being romantic is hardly a failing.”

She nodded, finding that she couldn’t look at him. “That’s true.”

In the end they decided upon some sort of zombie comedy that Rogue had never heard of but Scott swore was fantastic and they stretched out on his bed to watch it. She found herself laughing, and genuinely enjoying the quirky humour of it all, but when it got to Scott’s favourite part and he turned to tell Rogue so, he found her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her breathing steady and deep. He did, for a full moment, consider just letting her stay, before sternly reminding himself that she was ten years younger than him and incredibly vulnerable at the moment. Not to mention, he firmly told himself, that he’d only lost his fiancée six months ago. He may have come to terms with it, but not everyone was going to understand that. Rogue may be a beautiful young woman whom he cared about and had come to value very quickly, but he wasn’t going to jeopardise that new friendship by giving her the impression that he wanted her. Which he didn’t. Did he? Well, even if he did, she was nineteen and he was going to turn thirty on his next birthday – it wasn’t right.

He pulled away, trying to support Rogue’s body at the same time, and brushed some hair from her face. “Rogue?” She hummed sleepily and Scott tried to get her to stand. “Rogue, it’s time for bed.” She hummed again, but she was moving her feet and blinking slightly. He managed to get the door open, do the full one-eighty angle to her door and get that open without too much trouble. Rogue was putting a lot of weight on him and his weak body was protesting but he was no stranger to hard work and he managed to get Rogue to her bed. She was wearing light yoga pants and a t-shirt, suitable enough to sleep in, so he got her under her duvet and let her settle. He wasn’t sure whether to do so or not, but eventually he dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Rogue.”

“Marie,” Rogue murmured, still half asleep. “Name’s… Marie.”

Scott smiled gently. “Goodnight, Marie.”

He was at the door when he caught a quiet, “Night, Scott.” He closed the door softly behind him, and yawning widely, he decided it was only right for him to follow suit and get some rest.

\---

When Scott awoke, it was early and the morning sun was shining brightly through the blue curtains. It gave the whole room a similar blue-y cast to it, which confused Scott for a few moments until he remembered that he didn’t need his glasses; the blue came from the curtains, and not the malfunction of the shades. It was a sudden and brief panic, but it was enough to wake Scott up properly, and he rubbed at his face. He cast a glance at his clock – it was half seven in the morning - he’d slept for almost twelve hours and was in no mind to try and sleep any more.

It was strange – he’d always, with Jean, stuck to his side of the bed for the most part. Occasionally they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms, but generally they kept to their own sides of the bed. He’d found that without her, he had the tendency to spread himself out over all the bed. It was odd – it hadn’t happened when Jean was off on missions and he was left alone, or even the opposite, but after she’d died, when he’d finally managed to sleep, he’d woken up stretched from corner to corner with the sheets tangled around his legs. This morning was no different, but it was just one of many differences that he was starting to find disorienting. Things were changing in every more subtle ways.

‘Well this is a melancholy start to the day,’ Scott thought with a frown. He blinked and decided that he may as well get up, have breakfast and see what had become of his lab tests. He threw the sheets aside and trudged sleepily to the bathroom. The shower fitting was different to the one he’d had downstairs and it took him a few moments to work out that the left knob controlled the power and the right controlled the temperature. He played with both for a moment, and brushed his teeth while the water heated. His shower yesterday had been rushed and perfunctory, but today he could enjoy it. He washed and scrubbed and revelled in the freedom of not having to keep his eyes closed or wear his shades. Eventually, the sensation of being clean and slick became less enjoyable, and Scott’s mind was preoccupied by what Hank may have found. Scott got out of the shower, dressed and left his room. He considered waking Rogue for breakfast, but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the early morning – he wasn’t even sure if she was that much of a morning person – and he wasn’t sure she’d even want to come to see Hank with him to find out whatever was going on with him. After all, she had enough to think about.

Marie… he thought. He’d heard Logan call her that before. Most of the mansion only knew her as Rogue, and it was obviously an adopted name but since she didn’t offer her real name, no-one asked. It seemed that Logan had at some point, perhaps when they first met, but it showed a level of trust that he was surprisingly comfortable with. It was good to have a friend who understood him – who he felt he understood. Then again, she had been mostly asleep when she’d offered her name for Scott to use, and he knew from experience that people didn’t always remember things done when so close to sleep… And with that in mind, he decided to keep calling her Rogue until she called him on it. If she called him on it at all. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away by appearing to have taken liberties with her friendship.

Breakfast on Saturdays was a poorly attended and basic affair – cereal and toast were the only things on offer. He got himself a slice of toast and smothered it with jam, sat next to Ororo – the only other person present. Ororo’s likeness for chocolate-y cereals had always bewildered him. She hadn’t noticed him sit down – starting as she was at her darkening milk – and he cleared his throat with a smile, “Good morning.”

She practically jumped out of her seat in surprise, “Scott! I didn’t even see you! Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“I did, for a full twelve hours almost, and you?” He relished a bite of his raspberry coated toast.

“As well as is usual,” Ororo relied with a sarcastic smile. “My to-do list keeps getting longer, no matter how much I manage to get done.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” Scott assured her, “Just delegate some stuff my way and I’ll help you all I can. You’re not alone in this.”

Ororo nodded. “I’m beginning to see that. Are you tied up at all today?” She was seriously hoping he could give her a crash course on running the school, though she didn’t want to infringe on his time. He’d only just returned, and he’d become quite attached to Rogue – she didn’t want to inconvenience him. It was so like her, Ororo knew, to not want to inconvenience her friends, but sometimes you can’t handle it all alone, and this was certainly one of those times. When the reply came from Scott that all he had to do was meet Hank about his test results, and his afternoon was at her disposal, she reached over and hugged him. “Oh, thank you! There is a staff meeting at one this afternoon, which you’re welcome to attend but after that, I’d love some help.”

“Then I will be in your office for one o’clock,” Scott popped the last bite of toast into his mouth, stood and made his way towards the med lab.

Hank stood by his microscope, reaching up for some pipette tips from the shelf above. Without turning around, he said good morning. Those fine senses were quite handy, it seemed, Scott thought. “Morning Hank. Have you found anything on my tests yet?”

The blue doctor shook his head as he turned around, a box of yellow tips in his hand. “Sorry, Scott, not yet. Give me another couple of days for a more detailed analysis – I’d also like to do another MRI, computer enhanced this time. There was something strange on the first one that I just want to check.”

“What did you find?” Scott was ever so slightly worried – something strange on an MRI, and coming from Hank who’d seen Scott’s brain enough times to know something was off, was not good news.

Hank looked a little uncomfortable, strange in a man so big and usually confident. “I’d rather not say until I’m sure. I don’t want to have to disappoint you. If we could that MRI now, I’d probably have some answers for you on Monday.”

Shrugging, Scott walked over to the scanner, toed off his shoes and jumped up.

\---

Rogue glanced at the clock, almost turned back over, then shot up. “Shit, shit, shit!” She clambered out of bed and stripped as she staggered to the bathroom. “Shit, it’s midday, shit…” She yelped as the water came through the shower cold, but in record time she was finished in the bathroom, pulling on underwear, jeans and a v-necked jumper. She wouldn’t have time to blow dry her hair, so she was forced to just brush it out and tie it back. She pulled on some comfortable slipper-boots, gathered a notebook and pen, and headed for the dining hall. It was now twenty to one, and she wasted five of it in a queue for a sandwich. There weren’t many people in the dining hall – she guessed most people were spending their Saturday out in town or getting their first assignments done. Frantically watching the time, she quickly ate her sandwich alone before heading to Ororo’s office.

She wasn’t the last there, but she wasn’t the first. Bobby had taken one of the plush chairs, and Hank was taking up a proportion of one of the sofas. Ororo had clearly arranged them in some sort of general oval formation with the coffee table in the centre. Rogue took a seat on the opposite sofa, leaving two sofa seats and a chair spare. They certainly wouldn’t need all this space, would they? There were only four teachers employed, after all.

As she sat down, she fingered her damp hair. “Just woke up?” Bobby asked, teasingly.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she replied. “But that’s what weekends are for.”

“Well put, my dear,” Hank tipped his head in a very gentlemanly fashion.

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, but Hank, you’re always up early – you barely sleep.”

“I can still appreciate the luxury of a late morning, even if it is something in which I do not indulge,” Hank sniffed, though not at all offended.

“Fair enough,” Bobby conceded. “I hear Warren Worthington is dropping in on the meeting today.”

Rogue’s jaw dropped. “Why is he coming? Hasn’t he got enough to do with his labs?”

“Not that Warren Worthington,” Hank interrupted, “His son. He was here shortly before the Alcatraz Incident, though you after you left Rogue, and so you won’t have met him.”

The door opened, and Ororo walked in, followed by Scott and a tall, well-build blond man, who opted to stand against the wall instead of sit. He pulled off his long coat, and Rogue realised why. He had wings. She was used to seeing unusual things, especially in this school, but she’d never seen a mutation quite like this. Ororo took a seat in the chair, and Scott took the seat on the sofa beside Rogue with a quick smile in her direction. “Hey,” he whispered, though there was no need. She nodded back and Ororo began the meeting.

“Warren is joining us today to see how we do things,” she started with a nod in his direction. He smiled a little nervously at the people in the room. “In the wake of the failure of the cure, his father has decided to finance this school instead and so he just wants a better idea of what we do – Warren’s father has no intention of interfering in our methods or withholding support if he doesn’t like them so please don’t worry.” Despite that, Rogue was still worried, and she could see Bobby was a little apprehensive too. They were fresh out of school, and they were only nineteen. He may be a maths whiz, and she may have a talent for English and art, but that didn’t justify their positions, did it? Ororo continued. “And Scott’s here because this is where he belongs. He’s offered to help me run the school, perhaps taking up some of the English classes after Christmas.”

Everyone was looking at Rogue, though she was aware that Scott would want some of his classes back eventually, and she thought they knew that. “What, I’m fine with that,” she said, a little bewildered and ever so slightly annoyed. Did they think she’d kick off because she was losing some classes? Scott was a fabulous teacher, and she’d gladly hand over the classes he wanted – it had nothing to do with her being inept.  He was just more experienced. He’d probably take the older students and leave the younger ones for her – she’d prefer it that way.

Scott smiled at her gratefully, before turning his attention back to Ororo. She really was handling the running of the mansion well.

“So, with the extra money coming in, we’re going to be looking for more teachers. I’d like to keep teaching History, but we need someone to teach Geography. And Hank, you said you’d like to keep teaching politics?”

Hank cleared his throat. “I’d have no problem keeping all of my classes, although I think someone to teach basic science to the younger students would be preferable, and I would stick to advanced science classes.”

“Do you still want to extend your politics course to politics and ethics?” Ororo asked.

“I would. I know Professor Xavier found the students responded well to ethical debates, and I think it’s important we keep that up,” he replied.

Ororo nodded, “I agree, so if you could put together some sort of curriculum, we can perhaps put it into force after Christmas. And if you know of anyone appropriate to take the basic science classes?”

“I shall put together a short-list for you to look over, certainly,” Hank offered.

"Fantastic, Hank, thank you. Have you had any problems with your classes, before we move on?”

Hank wasn’t sure whether it was proper to mention with Bobby sitting in the room with him, but it needed to be said. “Not a problem, but Miss. Pryde has taken a distinct interest in a political career. I was hoping to set up some sort of work experience with my contacts in the Office of Mutant Affairs to give her an idea of what would be expected.” Now everyone was pointedly avoiding looking at Bobby, with the exception of Warren who was a little confused as to what the tension was.

Ororo considered explaining to Warren about Kitty and Bobby’s relationship, but she knew not everyone would approve. Luckily, she had supportive staff who accepted that as long as the two were discreet, nothing would be mentioned, but it was still a romantic and likely sexual relationship between a student and a teacher. She decided it wasn’t worth mentioning, though Warren was bound to discover it later. She decided to deal with that when it occurred, replying, “I think that’s a wonderful idea. As long as it isn’t around exam time, and it doesn’t take her out of too many vital classes, of course.”

Hank agreed, and Ororo moved on as smoothly as possible to Bobby. “So, how was your first week?” She asked with a gentle smile.

“Not as bad as I was expecting,” Bobby admitted, “though I know Rogue has found as I have that the new, older students are having a hard time accepting nineteen year old teachers. The continuing students have accepted it without a problem, but there’s that one guy Jeffrey Martins that seems intent on causing disruption. There’s a couple of the younger students – Kerry Adams and Daniel Stone – who are having trouble with the material and came to me straight off the bat about it. They’re getting extra sessions once a week, at lunchtimes on Wednesdays, which have been advertised to the other classes. I’m hoping that if more of them start having trouble, or just need somewhere to do their homework without distraction, they’ll use the drop-in session for that.”

“That’s brilliant Bobby. As for Mr. Martins, I’ve had the pleasure of his company this week and it’s not just you and Rogue he’s causing trouble for. His parents did express concern over his attitude problems when he was given a place here, but we’ll keep an eye on him. Rogue?”

“The younger students are responding well to the drama work – we’ve begun acting through Twelfth Night and we’re starting their art projects next week,” she said. “The older students are responding well to the texts they’ve been set for the exams, and I’ve got a stack of their essays to mark tomorrow which will give a better idea of how much they’re taking in. We do have a couple of dyslexic children who are getting extra help in class – I’ve had a couple of offers from the oldest students to begin a mentoring programme which I’d like to run by you and see how viable it is, too.

“As for the art classes, the younger students are more open with their drawings, showing their families, the school. So far it’s been happy experiences they’ve been depicting and I’m not sure how likely it is that they’re going to open up for the art therapy without prompting – I’m going to introduce themed lessons, so they have to produce something food related, something nature related and then closer to Halloween I can start with scary things and see what comes of that. The older students, for the exam, have to fulfil a brief but they’re being very imaginative and really pushing themselves. They’ve chosen a brief from a set of five and begun making their plans and it’s all very promising.”

Scott watched Rogue as she delivered her very detailed report. She, Ororo and Hank had the most work, and Rogue seemed to be handling it well, showing her students lots of attention. She’d always been his most promising student, since she first sat down in his class. Her essays were detailed and well structured; her interpretations were deep and well explained. She’d always delivered her best, and she was certainly doing the same for her classes. Scott almost regretted taking some classes from her come Christmas, as it was clear she loved her job and from the impression he got from the students, they loved her too.

“Well, I’m busy for the next couple of days,” Ororo replied, “but if we arrange some time next week to set up a mentoring programme. If it works with the English classes, we can see about rolling it out to the other subjects. And the themed art lessons seem like a great approach.” Ororo looked at her notes, only to find there was nothing else on the agenda. “If that’s everything, then we’ll do this again in four weeks – barring anything urgent.”

“Sorry to hog the soapbox,” Rogue didn’t really want to bring it up, especially in front of Warren, but she had to say something and this was the best time to do it. “But come October, maybe mid-November at the latest, I’m going to be sucking again,” she quipped at her own expense. After her talk with Scott, she certainly was feeling better. “And it’s not a problem in English, but I can’t really wear my gloves in the more practical art sessions.”

“So for painting and such?” Ororo clarified.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s only a problem for demonstrations, and sometimes the students are going to need more personal demonstrations, especially the older ones with their individual projects. I’m just concerned because until Hank can find a way of suppressing my skin,” she turned to Hank, “if it’s even possible, then there’s a risk to the students – a possibly more heightened risk than before.”

Rogue cast a glance at Warren and she felt a surge of pity. He looked so awkward, and it was clear he knew what she was talking about for the most part. She decided that if he was going to be a frequent face then she may as well explain. “Sorry, Warren, I don’t mean to be rude – you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he looked up and was about to say something but Rogue continued. “My skin absorbs the life force, memories and in the case of mutants, their abilities, when it comes in contact with someone else’s bare skin. Before I took the cure,” she was careful to use air-quotations there, “I had to wear gloves and cover up a lot of my skin to avoid hurting anyone. If the abilities are coming back stronger, then I pose a danger to my students.”

Warren cleared his throat nervously. “You seem to be a very careful and caring woman, and I’m sure you won’t let the students get hurt.”

She flushed, “Thank you. I’m just concerned that they’ll get hurt when I’m not paying so much attention.”

Scott watched the exchange uncomfortably. Warren seemed like a nice guy from the conversation they’d had before the meeting, but he was certainly coming on a little strong towards Rogue, wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry it failed,” Warren offered, unsure as to whether the sentiment would be appreciated, but he knew that this girl was facing a difficult time.

“Don’t be,” Rogue smiled, aware of the raised eyebrows her sincere expression evoked. Scott reached over and gave her knee a friendly squeeze, knowing how she felt about her powers returning. That just raised the eyebrows higher, but Ororo began to speak and attention was diverted.

“Rogue, as long as the students are aware that your gloves are off and they’re to be as careful as possible, I don’t see why it should be a problem.”

Rogue assured her she’d do her best before everyone was dismissed. She moved to her desk and Warren followed as Bobby and Hank left the room. “Are you busy this afternoon,” Rogue asked Scott, hoping he’ll find a way to distract her from the essays she had to mark.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rogue,” Scott seriously regretted offering his help to Ororo. Frankly, he’d rather spend time with Rogue that talk finances with Ororo and Warren, especially since Warren was so obviously flirting with Rogue in front of everyone, so shamelessly. “I promised I’d help Ororo get everything in order this afternoon.”

Hearing Scott say her name felt strange, even though he’d done it a hundred times. Why was it so – ‘Oh,’ Rogue realised, ‘I told him to call me…’ Granted, she was incredibly tired at the time and half asleep to boot, but she did feel like she ought to repeat the order. It was odd; the only other person to call her that now was Logan and he was gone. Why was she so keen on Scott using it too? “I thought I told you to call me Marie, Scott,” she said softly, deciding that it didn’t really matter why she wanted him to call her by her real name, just that she did in the first place. She trusted her instincts and went with them.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” Scott admitted with a teasing grin, “After all, you were pretty out of it.”

“Yeah, well, I was serious,” Marie said, embarrassed. “But if I propose anything else in the same fashion, you’ll just have to ignore me.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but either way, she was on her way out. Scott watched her go, bemused and fighting off a stunning image of Marie in a white dress.

\---

Marie couldn’t face the stack of a dozen essays and pile of sketchbooks she’d taken to her room for marking, so instead she decided to do some drawing of her own. She wasn’t really intent on producing another piece, but she was desperate to fill her time. She tried a self-portrait that came off rather well, if she may say so herself, and she decided to try drawing her friends from memory. Her sketch of Logan came off quite accurate, complete with tufty hair and prominent belt buckle. She didn’t do too badly in her sketch of Bobby and Kitty, though she couldn’t quite get Kitty’s nose right. Finally, she produced a sketch of Hank which wasn’t too bad, a sketch of Ororo that she was determined would never see the light of day again, it was so bad, and a sketch of Scott. Her hours spent by his bedside had apparently burned his appearance in to her memory, and she found that after only twenty minutes she had a near perfect sketch.

In all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend four hours, Marie decided. However, she began to get restless after she’d run out of friends to sketch, and ended up watching television downstairs on the sofa with Kitty and Jubilee until dinner time. She didn’t see Scott, and when the two girls invited her to the movies, she felt she couldn’t say no. And anyway, she did miss just hanging out with the girls. They left soon after dinner, and didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning.

Scott’s door was closed, and given the time, she expected he’d be sleeping. Marie went to bed, feeling a little more disappointed than she’d really wanted to admit.

Unlike the night before, Marie found herself unable to sleep after nine am, and found herself showering, dressing and settling in to mark her work. It was a warm day – the beginning of a heat wave, according to the forecast – and so she opened her window and propped open her door, putting the radio onto a classical music station in the background. She dithered between starting with the artwork or the essays while she tucked into a breakfast bar, and casting a glance at her sketchbook (cast to the floor after her frantic drawing session the day before) she decided that a break from art for a short while would be appreciated. She picked the first essay from the pile, “A Comparison of Two Taylor-Coleridge Poems” and picked up her green pen. ‘Let the massacre begin,’ she thought wryly.

\--

He could hear violins. Scott blinked and sleepily looked around his room. There was no violinist in the corner, nor had there been a violinist in his dream – certainly not, and he wasn’t really prepared to think about that dream right now – so why the hell could he hear violins? He shuffled up the bed slightly, and propped himself up with his arms. Someone was playing classical music – that’s what it was. He got out of bed, and walked to the wall that separated his and Marie’s room. The sound of violins only got louder – it was Marie playing the music. ‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘it’s not an unpleasant way to wake up.’ Her penchant for classical music was a little odd, but he couldn’t blame her for indulging in it at – he looked at the clock – ten in the morning on a Sunday. Well, maybe if he were hungover he would, but he wasn’t and so he decided that he’d shower, dress and distract her. After all, he had nothing to do today, and who better to entertain him than a beautiful nineteen-year-old woman.

When he was presentable enough to leave his room, he stood at Marie’s open door for a few moments before knocking. He didn’t enter, though he was well aware that not two days ago he’d done just that without her here, and watched as her head swung around to see who her visitor was.

“Oh, hey,” she grinned, setting down her pen. A break after fifteen minutes wasn’t unreasonable, after all. “Did you and Ororo muddle through alright, yesterday?” Her eyes followed Scott as he moved into the room and sat behind her on the bed. It forced her to twist around in her seat.

“It wasn’t so bad, and we might be building a performance studio with a cinema, an editing studio, stage, that kind of thing,” Scott confided, taking a great interest in Marie’s duvet cover which had suede panels to it. He stroked his hand back and forth over it, hypnotised. Marie cleared her throat, and he snapped his head up. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“No,” said Marie, “But you looked a little distracted. Is anything wrong?” When Scott shook his head, she shrugged and continued. “So an auditorium and stuff? That sounds like a great idea.”

“Jean used to talk about how creative the kids were,” his lips twitched as he wondered when Marie had stopped being one of those kids, and where he was when it happened.  “And how we should let them express it. She’d said once that she’d love to get a stage for the school, so we can put on plays and such…”

“So you put the idea forward?” Marie asked, softly.

Scott nodded. “Yeah, and Ororo and Warren really went for it. Especially now we have the money to follow through on it.” He smiled a little wider. “But anyway, I’m here to distract you.”

“Distract me?” Marie blinked in surprise. Scott was volunteering his time to stop her from working and make her spend time with him instead?

“Indeed,” he stood and leaned over her half-marked essay, giving Marie a face-full of his chest. She shifted back around in her seat. “There’s nothing worse than essay-marking.”

She agreed, glaring at the typed page. “It’s almost as bad as writing the damn things. But I want to hand them back tomorrow and I’ve still got fourteen to go.” As hard as it was to turn down Scott’s company, she really had to do her work. “Sorry, Scooter, but you’ll have to find someone else to distract today – I’m chock-full of resistance.”

“Oh,” he sighed, flinching back as if physically wounded. “You know using that nickname isn’t ingratiating you to me any more, don’t you?”

“Don’t lie; you love it really,” she teased.

Scott shrugged. “Only from you.” It was amazing how true it rang once he’d said it. “So, you aren’t going to entertain me today?”

“Gotta say no,” she said, “But how did your meeting with Hank go yesterday – I never got a chance to ask.”

He sighed. “He’s found something, but doesn’t want to say anything until he knows for sure. I did some more tests, he’s going to tell me tomorrow.” Dismissing the subject, Scott started pulling a puppy-dog-eyed look, Marie had to look away.

“You aren’t going to convince me, Scooter, so shoo!” She made waving motions with her hands to emphasise her order. Scott held up his own hands in defeat, though the grin told her he wasn’t too sore about being sent away.

“Okay, but promise me breakfast in the morning?”

“Eight o’clock,” she assured, watching Scott back up towards the door. He rounded the corner and Marie heard his footsteps fade as he walked across the landing and down the stairs. She carried on staring at the doorframe until she could no longer hear him, before she turned back to Emilia Rockfort’s badly written essay. She picked up where she left off, but soon found she’d read the same sentence four times and still hadn’t really taken it in. And it was one of the few flawless sentences in Emilia’s atrocity. Her mind kept rolling back to Scott, who’d been so understanding about her wanting to complete her work, and who she felt she’d let down. It wasn’t like she was his only friend, or he hers, but he’d offered his whole day to her and she’d turned him away. Marie knew she’d always used her work – whether that be teaching or her school work as a student – as an excuse to get out of movies she didn’t want to watch, or shopping she couldn’t be bothered with, or time with Bobby when she just couldn’t be bothered to listen to him sing her praises again for a whole hour. Sure, a girl liked to be complimented, but really there was only so much Marie could take before she got sick of being perceived as perfect. Was she now using her work as a reason to push Scott away? Why would she even want to do that?

Though, she supposed, Scott’s withdrawal from her life was inevitable. She was always left alone, and whether it be romantically or platonically, the people she loved always bailed out on her. After all, where was Logan and where were her parents? Where was John? And as for Bobby, he was probably still in bed with Kitty, since that’s where the girl had disappeared the night before when they’d made it back from the cinema. Her burgeoning friendship with Scott could only lead to desertion. Maybe it was better to push him away now. ‘That is so depressing,’ Marie thought. ‘Pull yourself together girl. Scott is a good friend and he understands your dedication. Stop wallowing!’

Taking her own good advice, she read Emilia’s sentence again, and found that despite the flawless grammar, punctuation and spelling, the girl had completely missed the point of her assignment. She finished off reading and marking the essay, correcting what she could, before writing a red ‘F’ on the top of the first page and putting it to one side in her ‘done’ pile.

\---

Scott pulled another file pertaining to the standing of the Institute with the Education Department out of the filing cabinet and added it to his stack. He supposed it was inevitable that Marie would want to get back to her life – she couldn’t keep propping him up forever. Not that he needed a great deal of propping, thanks to her efforts so far, but he felt like he was losing her before he’d even had her. He realised how that sounded in his head, and despite the fact that no-one could know he’d thought it, he immediately started to back-track. ‘Get to know her,’ he thought frantically. ‘I meant before I’d even gotten to know her.’ Of course, he was probably just over-reacting, and hadn’t he decided that she was far too young to entertain those thoughts about? Fact was, she did need to do her work out of the class, and those essays were important feedback for the students, and it wasn’t like she’d told him to get out and never speak to her again – she’d apologised and promised to meet him for breakfast in the morning before her classes started. So everything was fine, right? ‘Right,’ he thought decisively. He’d been a teacher, and he knew how much work it took both in and out of the classroom. Marie was just doing what he would be doing, were he teaching. Maybe he’d find a way to cheer her up?

He took the stack of files into his arms and headed for Ororo’s office.

\---

Her morning routine was surprisingly well established. Marie’s alarm kicked in to a soft rock radio station at seven o’clock, giving her more than enough time to shower, dry her hair, dress and set out her requirements for the day before knocking on Scott’s door at eight am. He answered, showered and dressed in a shirt and jeans, a smile and no glasses. It was becoming a distant memory: the image of a red-bespectacled Scott Summers. He’d adjusted to technicolour (and sadly powerless for whatever reason) vision remarkably well.

“Wow, you actually look like a teacher,” he commented as he pulled his door closed behind him, eying her shirt, tank-top and skirt combination, all in a tasteful black and white.

Marie swatted his arm before leading the way to breakfast. She lay the sarcasm on thick. “You’re charming, has anyone ever told you that.”

“I’m a positive prince,” he quipped.

“Whatever,” she dismissed. “Did you find someone to entertain you, yesterday? You were as demanding as a four-year-old.”

"You’re killing me with all this abuse, Marie,” Scott frowned, “Could it be that you aren’t a morning person?”

She shook her head and looked very apologetic. “No, not especially, and those essays I had to mark were dire.” Where was she going wrong? She’d let them choose which poems they’d like to compare, but it seemed like they’d all just flashed them off ten minutes before the lesson, and none of the class seemed like ones to do that. There were spelling errors all over the place – strange that her whole class couldn’t use a spell check function – and half of them hadn’t even compared their poems, and had just described some of the features. It was a nightmare! At least some of the artwork she’d seen was promising…

Sensing her thoughts, Scott grabbed her attention. “Look, it isn’t your fault,” he said. “They all take a while to get into it at the beginning of term. Just mark them harshly, tell them to buck up their ideas and their next assignments will better.”

Nodding, they made their way into the busy dining hall. Neither of them fancied a cooked breakfast that morning, and so they grabbed themselves some cereal before joining the other teachers. Despite the teachers being the rule-keepers of the school, they didn’t eat separately from the students, nor were they on a higher table, or in any prominent position. It had always been that way, Scott knew, and the tradition hadn’t changed even with the Professor’s death. The teachers shared a rec-room with the students, watched the same television – although the teaching staff were permitted televisions in their own rooms.

Marie sat and ate her breakfast in silence, and Scott had the distinct impression that she wasn’t going to say much this morning. He wanted to tell her about his first few years teaching and how he took every poor essay and bad grade personally, like he was the one failing. How it took him a long time to realise that he couldn’t make the students do what they didn’t want to, and some of them were never going to listen or accept advice and help. But with all these students and colleagues around, he knew she wouldn’t want anyone to know how vulnerable she was feeling, how responsible. Well, he decided, he’d just have to tell her some other time.

 “Nine am nears,” Bobby sighed, flashing everyone a rueful smile before leaving the table.

 “Yeah,” Marie said, distantly.

Scott laid a hand on her bare arm gently. “Hey, how about I take you out for lunch – give you something to look forward to,” he smiled hopefully.

“I’d like that,” she admitted. “You just get yourself to Hank, okay?”

He nodded, “Going now.” His eyes followed her out of the dining hall. When he turned back around in his seat, Ororo was staring at him with a strange smile on her face. “What is it?” He asked, though he had a fairly good idea what she was smiling at. After all, he’d essentially asked Marie out on a lunch date, despite it not being an actual date. ‘Right?’

“I didn’t say anything, Scott,” Ororo said sweetly. “To what would you be referring?”

Scott sighed. “Look, say whatever it is that you want to say about my taking Marie out to lunch.”

The headmistress’ eyebrows shot up her forehead. So, it was Scott and Marie, now – that was very interesting. Well, she wasn’t going to stand in the way of them both finding some happiness, so long as Scott knew what he was getting into. A physical relationship with Rogue wasn’t likely to last or continue, but she knew Scott wasn’t stupid. He’d know that, and it wasn’t like Scott was after only sex. Marie had been quite the rock in Scott’s life over the past week and they were barely apart. She trusted him enough to give him her real name to use, and he was comfortable enough with her to use it. If he had moved on from Jean enough to even consider someone else, then it was worth encouraging. “I just want to make sure that you know what you’re getting into, and you aren’t going to hurt each other.”

“I don’t even know if I want any more than we have right now,” he admitted sheepishly. “But she’s kind, and funny and vibrant.” He smiled widely. “She cares about everyone and she understands me, better than I may have realised before… all of this.”

Ororo nodded. “You do have a lot in common. Neither of you have control over your mutations, and both of you have to deal with that in ways that are a detriment to one of your senses.” She took a deep breath, and looked at Scott searchingly. “I don’t want to see either of you hurt over this. You seem to have become great friends, and it’d be a shame to lose that if it doesn’t work out.”

“That’s the thing though, Ororo,” he frowned. “We are great friends now, but she’s nearly ten years younger than me. Before I woke up in that bed, she was a student! I – we – rescued her when she was fifteen; does that not seem wrong to you?”

“No,” Ororo said. “We both know that Rogue is older than her years. She has Logan and Magneto in her head, and the things she’s been through have forced her to grow up very quickly. Yes, she was a student not so long ago, but now she’s a teacher and she’s a good one at that. If she’s worth it, then you can get over it, Scott.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Damn, it’s five past and I’m late,” she looked back at Scott. “Just… make sure you’re sure.”

Scott sighed. “Yeah, thanks Ororo.”

“You’re welcome,” she gave his hands a squeeze before leaving.

He watched her go as he had Marie, before turning to stare at his empty breakfast bowl. Was he sure? Ororo’s words had helped soothe his worry over Marie being too young for him, because she was right – Marie was older than her years by virtue of what she’d been through. So, was he, Scott Summers, willing to risk this wonderful friendship for a relationship? Well… perhaps, he admitted. ‘I got far there, didn’t I?’ he mused. ‘Thinking myself in circles.’

He realised that he wasn’t going to get very far in his decision this morning, so after watching the morning’s news on the television, he got himself to Hank’s lab just after ten o’clock, wondering how the doctor didn’t have classes to teach. Hank grinned at the sight of him, and Scott felt a little of his tension ease. Surely if Hank was so jovial this morning, it had to be good news, right?

“Good morning, my boy,” Hank ushered him in.

Scott saw a sheet of metal held up in clamps above one of the beds. Curious – he’d used sheets of metal just like it to practice his control with the visor. Did this mean his powers were going to come back? The sting of regret was a surprise, and Scott realised with shock that he didn’t completely want to go back to being Cyclops the X-Man. He’d re-discovered a whole world of colour that he’d neglected to take notice of before he had no choice to see in anything but red. He imagined Marie, her brown hair and platinum streaks, her colourful wardrobe and beautiful, beautiful art. He didn’t want to lose that! He could barely remember her in shades of red – when he tried to think of the girl he’d rescued, he saw her as she was now just in a different setting. He decided to bite the bullet. “What have you found, Hank?”

The doctor clapped his hands together, suddenly becoming apprehensive. “Take a seat, Scott.”

“Okay…” He dropped onto one of the stools that were strewn around the med-lab for times like this, wondering if he’d read Hank wrong, and it was bad news he was here to hear.

“You mentioned that Jean was trying to control your mutation, pushing it back?”

He blinked. “Yeah, she never really managed it until the,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “the day she came back.”

“I’ll get right to the crux of the matter, Scott,” Hank said, taking a seat behind his desk. “That day, Jean did more than just control the burst of your blast. She not only pushed it back, but she appears to have… regenerated your brain.”

“What?” Scott breathed. How was that even possible?

Hank grinned, obviously eager to impart his knowledge, but trying to break the news as gently as he could. “The new MRI scans I took last week showed a perfectly healthy and intact brain. An enhanced look showed that Jean has somehow encouraged the division of your working nerve cells, something that shouldn’t really be possible, developing new, functioning tissue which has regenerated your control.”

Slumping in the stool, Scott felt dizzy. Jean fixed his brain, reversing the damage from his crash. “And this means I have control over my mutation?”

“I believe so, yes,” the doctor said. “Though, I’d like to just test that – hence the sheet there.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Scott stood up, dazed. He hadn’t lost his powers. He had, in fact, gained control. He was going to keep being able to see the world as it is. He couldn’t wait to tell Marie… And it hit him that he really was willing to take the risk with Marie. He wanted to share this with her; he wanted to share everything with her. He heard Hank ask him to try and blast a hole in the metal, and he tried to focus. It was important he knew what he could and couldn’t do now… he’d probably have to retrain himself to use the blasts. Okay, so he needed enough power to blast a gap, but not enough to damage anything behind the sheet – the wall, specifically.

Hank watched as Scott made a gentle twitching motion, as though he was going to raise a hand to a visor, and the doctor smiled. Old habits really did die hard. There was a flash of red, the beam cutting straight through the metal, and Scott was left swaying on the spot. Hank immediately moved forward to support the man, guiding him to his chair. He’d only fall off a stool, after all. “Easy,” Hank encouraged. “Must be a shock.”

“You have no idea,” Scott replied. “Has it…”

Hank moved over to the metal, finding a perfectly round, smooth hole the size of a quarter in the centre of the sheet. “That’s… incredible, Scott. It’s just as precise as with your visor.”

"I expected it to take work… training or something,” Scott said absently.

“It’s likely that Jean wanted to instil perfect control, or that you had the capacity for it to begin with, which she restored,” Hank theorised.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess.”

Realising that Scott wasn’t really with him, and as he had nothing else to tell the man, Hank clapped a gentle blue hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Off you go, Scott. Get some fresh air, go practice, relax. Take your time.”

“Thanks, Hank,” Scott smiled gratefully before rising on shaky legs and leaving the room.

“Oh and Scott? Congratulations.”

He nodded and made his way, stunned, to the elevator. It being an unusually warm September day, the air in the elevator was cloying and it was incredibly uncomfortable. Time seemed to drag as he waited for the doors open on the ground floor of the mansion.

His feet took him to Marie’s classroom, her voice drifting down the halls. She’d left the door wide open, and peeking his head in he could see she’d opened the windows too, allowing a smooth breeze to flutter through. Marie was teaching her youngest art class, the eight to ten year olds. He realised he’d never asked what she was doing with them, and she hadn’t told him, but from his position at the door, he could observe them without being discovered.

The kids were congregating around groups of desks, pushed together to make as large a surface as possible. At first glance, Scott couldn’t really work out what it was the kids were working on. Nor could he see Marie. But suddenly, the stretches of cardboard and plastic covered in moulded and dried paper maché began to look like islands, and Marie popped up from beside some children, stretching to her full height. He supposed it was hard to work on the same level as the small kids if you didn’t get down on your knees and join them.

“Miss. Rogue!” One of the girls shouted out, “Jeremy’s chucking sand on me!”

“I’m not!” Jeremy protested, stamping his foot for good measure.

Marie crossed the classroom, and Scott shrank back a little so she wouldn’t see him. He was enjoying watching her in her element. “Jeremy, you were throwing paper maché at Lilah last week,” she said slowly, but not unkindly. “So why should I believe you weren’t throwing sand at her this week?”

Jeremy’s head dropped as he stared at his shoes. Scott didn’t hear the boy say anything, but Marie told him that ‘if she heard he was throwing things again, he’d not be able to finish his island and would just have to sit back and watch’, so Scott reckoned that Jeremy must have admitted to it. The boy nodded at least, and quietly went back to making the beach of his group’s island.

Marie didn’t move away from the group, instead she put her arm around one of the other girls who started speaking animatedly. Over the chatter of the kids, Scott couldn’t hear it, and as he shifted, Marie stood up. Thinking he’d been busted as a stalker, Scott smiled sheepishly, but Marie wasn’t paying him any attention, instead calling out to the class, “Okay, guys, we’ve got ten minutes to clear up! I want two people in each group to clean the paint brushes, and the rest of you to tidy up all the bits of paper that have fallen on the floor, and Jeremy, would you get the brush and sweep up since it’s mostly your sand on the floor.” Marie smiled indulgently at the young boy, and Scott saw how great a mother she’d be one day. As soon as that thought had crossed his mind, Scott felt like a fool. Who knows if Marie could even carry a child given her mutation, let alone make one.

And thinking of Marie making babies wasn’t something he should be doing right now, outside her classroom, especially not when he was thinking of being an integral part of that process.

“Hi, Scott,” and he’d been spotted. He’d been staring off out the window, so he had to drag his thoughts away from a visual of a naked Marie and turn his attention to the very clothed Marie in front of him, in public. Shit, did he have a problem.

“Hey,” he greeted, walking into the classroom to join Marie in the centre of the chaos. There were at least six kids surrounding a sink, hidden in a bench at the side, cleaning. The others were packing their bags, capping tubes and crawling around, picking up scraps of paper. “You’ve got them well trained,” he observed wryly.

With a fond smile, Marie nodded. “They’re good kids.” She turned slowly on the spot, keeping an eye on them all. “Have you been to see Hank?”

“Yeah,” said Scott. “I’ll tell you about it during the break.”

“Oh, I’ve got an hour free after this,” she replied, seriously hoping that whatever Hank had discovered would not take so long to tell, and would not need her to use most of that hour to calm herself down. She stole a glance at Scott’s face, but it was blank, his eyes following the kids back and forth. He looked neither pained nor relieved; he seemed neither happy nor devastated. Maybe Hank had said nothing at all, or didn’t know anything; maybe Scott didn’t know how to react.

‘Yes,’ Marie decided, ‘that was probably it. Whatever Hank had said, it mustn’t have sunk in yet.’

The bell for the end of class sounded, and the kids were pretty much finished. They all stood by their projects, waiting for something.

“Good job, guys, it’s practically spotless!” Marie exclaimed happily. “I’ll see you all in a couple of days. Off you get.”

The kids filed out, raucous as before.

Scott and Marie headed outside in silence. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, ruining the quiet they’d build up since leaving the classroom. In the end, it was Marie who did so. “What did Hank have for you then?” Scott guided her to a bench in the garden.

He sighed as he sat. “Good news,” he finally disclosed. “I haven’t lost my mutation at all.”

Marie blinked, a little confused, and when Scott didn’t continue she guessed she’d have to tease the information out of the man. “So why are you able to see?”

“Jean,” Scott said simply. He stared out at the flowers surrounding them for a few moments before turning to face Marie’s curious gaze head on. “She regenerated my brain, when I found her at Alkali Lake, and so I have…”

“Control,” Marie finished. She supposed she ought to be jealous, but she couldn’t really find that in her. “Scott, that’s fantastic,” she said earnestly.

He nodded, almost absently, turning away again. “I know, but… it’s weird, you know. I’ve never had that control, and now it’s there and it seems it’ll do whatever I like. I didn’t even have to concentrate on keeping it off, it was just like that. And in Hank’s lab, I cut through that sheet of metal exactly as I’d intended to, first time off. There were no uncontrolled bursts, no melting. The hole was the perfect size and shape.”

“It’s a gift, Scott,” Marie shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You have it, and it means that you don’t have to worry about it suddenly coming back. You’re always going to be able see this way, now.”

Scott sighed. “I’m happy, really I am, but…”

“You feel guilty?” She guessed, and correctly. When he nodded, Marie took his hand in hers. “Don’t be, please. I’m not jealous, so you don’t have to be guilty.”

“It seems too easy, Marie, and you’re going to have to work so hard.”

“Yeah,” was all she said, and they continued to sit in the warm sunshine in comfortable silence.


End file.
